It's All in Their Hands (7th Hunger Games)
by 24 by 24
Summary: 24 tributes and 24 authors fight it out in the 7th Annual Hunger Games. Come and see who will win and who will be forgotten.
1. District 1

**Ariella Dawson, 17 - District 1 female**

**Juliet's Shadow**

* * *

Outside my house there is a little shed. In that shed there are knives. Those knives are what I know best. I can escape school, after being taunted and teased about my looks and walk over to the room, grab a knife, and start throwing, imagining each bullseye is a knife in their eye.

No one knows my escape after school each day. To half the people, I am sweet innocent little Ariella Dawson who wouldn't hurt a fly. I am sweet little Ariella Dawson who wouldn't say a bad word to anyone. I am sweet little Ariella Dawson, the poor girl who doesn't look like the rest of us.

The other half of the people sees me as worthless Ariella Dawson, whose father was from an outlaying District. I am worthless Ariella Dawson, the mutt who doesn't belong. I am worthless Ariella Dawson, who thinks she is so much better than the rest of us.

I put the people who call me worthless on the target and imagine them. I smile every time I hit Glitter in the face and Diamond in the eye. I don't hate them nearly as much as I hate the imposter who came and invaded my safe-haven eleven years ago. When I put my stepdad's face on the target, I never miss. I am especially livid this morning, as last night's conversation replays in my mind.

_School was crap, as usual. I was reminded of my District 10 father who didn't want me. I was reminded I was different from everyone else. I was reminded how stupid I was. At least at home I can escape the insults, or fight back. "Ariella!"_

_My baby sister, Crystalla, only six years old comes running over to me. "Ariella! Jayden hit me." Tears are forming in the six year olds beautiful green eyes and I give her a small smile._

_"Well, baby, if you are ever going to get strong, you have to hit him back." I reach down and pull her up to my lap. "But, if you want to stay kind, you turn the other cheek and let him hit you again. That will make you strong in here." I point to her heart and she lets out a giggle. I kiss the top of her head._

_"Ariella!" I hear the booming voice of my stepfather, and Crystalla becomes frightened instantly. He walks into the room with his belt in his hand. If he wants to beat me he can go for it. He can prove my point to Crystalla right there. "What kind of crap are you telling my children now?"_

_I don't shrink into the sidelines, as I typically do in this kind of situation. I rise up and become strong. I can be strong to my stepdad. I can be strong to this horrible man. "I'm not telling them any crap. I never tell them crap. That's your job, isn't it?"_

_Tapaz, in all his infuriation, grabs a hold of his daughter's wrist and yanks her over to him. He grabs his belt and uses it like a whip and beats me with it on my back. It stings, but it happens so often, I've learnt to ignore the pain. "You know what, you good for nothing little interbred mutt? I hope you get reaped tomorrow. I hope you die."_

_I rise up onto my tiptoes and look him dead in the eyes, my chocolate brown ones staring into his emerald green ones. "You don't have to worry about that. I'll volunteer tomorrow. I'll volunteer and you will hate it when I come home a victor and my mother and your children are welcome in my house and welcome to my money, but you are booted out onto the street. I could probably have a Peacekeeper kill you, if I want."_

_He smiles a cold smile. "I can't wait."_

That smile still burns in my mind as I throw a knife at the target. I haven't missed once since I started to imagine him. I must have been out here for hours, just waiting for someone to interrupt me. I hear the back door to the house open and see my blonde haired, green eyed, eight year old brother come out. "Mom said I need to come get you."

I put my knives down and smile at Jayden, who looks very sad. "What if you go away, Ariella? What if you get picked?" Of course I was bluffing when I said I'd volunteer. I'm pretty sure I was bluffing.

I pull my little brother in for a hug and kiss the top of his head. "If I get picked, you'll have to stay strong for mom and Crystalla until I get back."

Jayden doesn't stop hugging me. He keeps me close until it is 7:30am. The entire District is up early today. We have the reapings at 8:30am this morning. I walk into the house, Jayden has his hand in mine, and I sit him down at the breakfast table, next to his sister. I then go down the hall and change into my clothes.

I decide to wear a tight fitting, one shouldered blue dress that goes halfway down my thighs. The one shoulder is made up of three blue pieces of fabric, swirled together so they look like cloth roses. The roses hold a piece of fabric that goes over the dress to the dress, making it look flowy as well as sexy. I smile as I put it on and then proceed to do my makeup, covering my face with natural looking powders and my eyes with mascara. I top it off with a dark red lipstick and pull my hair into an elegant side ponytail. I think I look presentable. I complete the outfit with some silver heels that look as though they could be made of glass. It looks perfect.

I walk into the kitchen at 7:45am, ready to go.

"Wow, Ariella! You look amazing!" The awe in Crystalla's voice makes me smile.

"You really, do." I hear the soft, kind voice of my mother and smile, letting her hug me.

"Thanks, momma." She sits me down at the table and gives me a glass of chocolate milk and a biscuit with a hazelnut chocolate spread in it. I eat my meal and by that time, it is time to go.

We are walking out the door when Tapaz sees me. "Well, if it isn't the little mutt? Wow, you really look like a whore. Are you going to be selling yourself off as a prostitute to the other tributes?" He pauses and brings his voice down low. "I hope you die."

I look him dead in the eye once again. I am never this bold to anyone, not even him, but something in me fills me with courage. "Then I'll see you in hell." I walk out the door without giving him another look. I know I wasn't bluffing. I'm going to go into the games.

I check in and let myself be taken away by a crew of seventeen year olds. I know there were other girls who wanted to volunteer, but it is simply who wants it most. Right now, I want it the most.

Serendipity is the name of our district escort and to me he looks like someone dyed a pig green and stuffed it into a sparkly green tux. It is disgusting to look at and seems even worse than the usual glamour produced by us for the Capitol. Dazzle, our victor, appeared to be a typical District 1 citizen.

Serendipity drones on about why we have the games and talks about the war. It is a sensitive subject among many. I still remember it, being ten years old when it ended. Jayden doesn't remember a thing. He was too young. Crystalla wasn't born until after the war's conclusion. She was actually born the day Leo, from District 4, was crowned winner of his games.

Now is not the time to get distracted. I need to remember where I am at. I see Serendipity put his hand into the bowl and draw a pice of paper from inside. He unfolds it and reads the name. "Ruby Castor."

The crowd turns their attention to a small looking fourteen year old girl. She looks different, just like me, with black hair instead of brown. My decision has been made. I wait patiently as Ruby makes her way to the stage. There is a look of true terror in her sapphire blue eyes. "Do we have any volunteers for this young woman?"

There is a moment where no one does anything, and I put my hand in the air. "I volunteer!"

Ruby looks truly relived that someone called forth to be her savior. I make my way down to the stage, ignoring the looks of confusion of all who knew me. None of them knew about my knives. None of them knew about Tapaz. None of them knew what it was like at my house. The rows of green eyes just look at me, astonished. I can pick out Diamond and Glitter, the worst of all the people who tease me, and see their faces. They aren't smiling right now. They just look confused, and frightened.

I watch the escort put his chubby hand into the bowl and pull out a name. I can feel my heart in my chest. This person is who I am going against. "Franco Ludwig!"

I don't recognize the name. That isn't surprising, considering there are three schools across the district. There is the training academy where the most well off and the children with the most potential to be murderers go, the school in the district where the people closest to the Capitol go, which is the school I attend, and the school for the lowest of the low, the future Jewel Miners. I often forget about them because our paths seldom cross, but I know enough to know they look sort of like me. Their hair is lighter and their eyes are usually green, but they look more like me. That area of the District was probably where Ruby was from.

I wait for a volunteer to come up and take the spot of the young man, but I doubt any will come. I can hear the taunts coming at him. There is something very sad about it. I feel automatic pity for him. I'm sure he is nice, but he is taunted, just like me. The boy is almost to the stage when I hear two words. "I volunteer!"

I look around for the voice and see him. The boy walking forward comes from the small group of darker haired individuals in the boys section. He is a miner. I would say he was good looking, but I don't focus on that. He has shaggy light brown hair concealing his light eyes that from where I am look like they could be blue or gray. He is tall and muscular and has freckles all over his nose and cheeks. I don't know who he is at all. When he gets to the stage his name is announced as Maverick Geo. It sounds like a miner's name too.

"Shake hands, you two."

I give him a smile and try to let him know we are in this together. I'm not going to hurt him. I hope he doesn't hurt me. We are from the same District, that shouldn't stop us from being friends.

After seeing my District partner, I am put into despair. I don't know what to think about anything. I am shoved into a room inside the Justice Building where I am completely alone. There is a knock on the door and in run Crystalla and Jayden. Behind them, walking calmly is my mother. When I see the green eyes of my siblings fill with tears, my brown ones are filled also. I pull them in for a hug and don't let go for a minute or so. When I look up, I am pouring down tears. "Momma! Momma don't let them take me! I didn't mean to. I- I only did it because- because Tapaz made me so angry. He said he wanted me to die! He said so himself and –and I wanted to prove to him that he was wrong." She pulls me in for a hug and I just cry on her. "Momma, don't let them take me. I'm sorry."

Momma kisses my forehead and takes a ring off her finger. It is a simple silver band with a blue opal in it. It is simple, and beautiful. "It was the wedding ring your father gave to me. I want you to have it, Ariella. Come back to us. Now wipe those tears away from your face. You want to seem strong, don't you? You want everyone to want you to win, right?"

I nod and let my mother wipe away my tears and straighten me up, making me look presentable. "There you go. Remember Ariella, we love you."

"I love you too, mom." She walks out of the room. Jayden and Crystalla give me hugs before they are forced to leave as well.

I am escorted to a hallway where I am forced to wait with a bunch of peacekeepers. I twirl the ring my mother gave me out of nervousness. I don't know what I was thinking. I just take my breaths and make sure I don't look weak. I want to appear strong and able to win. Minutes after I arrive, a very flustered looking Maverick is pushed into the hall. "Are you alright? What happened?" I think I am showing genuine concern for him. That's alright. I want to get on his good side.

"Don't ask," he snaps back at me. I can feel the hurt come into my eyes and I turn away, suddenly wondering what I did wrong.

A group of Peacekeepers come around us, keeping a closer eye on him than me. I wonder why that is. I can't be that much smaller than him, can I? Do they already think I'm going to lose? What is wrong with me?

Cameras flash our way and I am too overwhelmed to see what is going on. I just see light after light after light. All the words are jumbled together and nothing makes sense. I just smile and wave, trying to make a good impression.

They push us into a car and we ride to the train in silence. I can feel myself shaking. I'm not sure if I am ready for this. If I am going to freak out, I better save it to when I am alone on the train. I don't want anyone to doubt me or count me out.

We step onto the train and it is lovely. It seems like the mansions of the District. I have been in a couple, but have always been surprised at their beauty. It is wonderful. We both hesitate while going in. "Go in, go in children!" Serendipity's shrill voice squeaks. "See all the Capitol has to offer you before you even arrive."

I let myself wander around, looking all the beauty in the train. There is a table set out for food for us, but I hardly notice it. I do notice Maverick staring at it longingly though. "Go on, children. Go on. Eat and be merry. Mr. Spinel's car should be pulling up any second and then we shall be off."

I allow myself to sit down and grab bits and pieces of food so I don't seem like I am eating too much. I want to appear at the Capitol looking small in stomach size as well.

When Dazzle walks in, I can feel the tension rise in the room. "Now, you two aren't the ones I hand-picked from the Academy."

I shake my head. "I'm sorry sir. I didn't know people were picked." I hold my hand out for a handshake, trying to get on his good side. "My name is Ariella Dawson."

He looks at me with distrust and disgust. I can feel a blush coming to my cheeks and let my hand come down to my side. I try to blink away the tears forming. The stress of today has made me very emotional. Hopefully I can get it under control by the time we are at the Capitol. "I'll bet you aren't even trained, are you?" I look up and grab one of the sharpest knives from the table.

"May I?" When I don't get an answer, I let myself keep talking. "I'm going to make this knife stab…" I look around the walls, trying to find an appropriate place to aim at, but find none. I draw and X on the wall with the knife. "I'll get it right in the center of that X." I let myself feel the weight of the knife. Learning the overall feel of it takes less than a second. Then I throw it, making it lodge itself in the wall, on the X, right where I said it would be.

Dazzle rolls his eyes, but there is at least a look of promise in them that wasn't there before. He turns his attention to Maverick. The two appear to have some sort of vendetta. "Mr. Volunteer himself. While it might please you to know that the rival for your girlfriend's heart isn't able to compete in these games and chance returning home to her after she ditches you for someone who deserves her-" Maverick punches the man in the face.

"You bastard! You dead-beat son of a bitch!"

Serendipity looks horrified at the outburst and I am watching, putting hands over my mouth. I cannot believe he would do that to our mentor. He is the only way either one of us can stay alive. It is one thing to treat Tapaz like that, but your lifeline, another. "You aren't a god, you are a coward! A child that walked away from a little boy that needs you and a girl that's only mistake was thinking she could fix a broken-down piece of shit like you!"

I go up to him and pull him off as best I can, considering my smaller size and muscle mass. "Let it go, Maverick. We are in a new world. The past doesn't matter if you want to have a future." I have his arm clutched in my hand and look at him with pleading eyes. "Let it go. He's not worth it."

"Screw this!" He shoves my arm off of him and goes to the couch. I follow him over there.

I hold out my hand for a handshake. "My name is Ariella Dawson."

* * *

**Maverick Geo, 16 - District 1 male**

**Squirrel-Punter-6829**

* * *

My heart is breaking for my sister and the con that she called "love"

When I look into my nephew's eyes...

Man, you wouldn't believe the most amazing things that can come from

Some terrible nights...

There are a lot of misconceptions about District One when it comes to most day-to-day operations, but more or less, when it comes to days like today. Along with District Two, we are seen as the villains of the games, thanks to the fancy Training Centers the Capitol themselves sponsored after watching our weak and frail die bloodied and horrid deaths at the hands of children from poor, rebellious Districts three years in a row. We are the favored Districts, the lapdogs that have it so easy. The luxury state where we crap diamonds and fart glitter. Life is grand and we never know hunger.

Yeah. Tell that to us jewel miners.

True, starvation isn't an art form here, like I've heard it is in Districts 10, 11, and 12, but we are far removed from lavish outfits and proper training. We are ostracized, looked down upon by those with the money and power, who ride their high horses while we toil away in the darkness, bringing them their precious colored gems and stones, all so we can go to bed with food in our bellies and clothes on our backs. While they bathe in golden tubs with warm water, men like my father spend twelve hours a day with his flashlight and pickaxe in nothingness, day after day, week after week, year after...well, I think you get the picture.

Like today. The Districts are supposed to shut down on Reaping Day, but we are not among the Chosen People. Today, we work earlier; harder. If we expect to have the, dare I say it, luxury of having a day off to spend with family that hasn't spent time training to slaughter other children in a fight to the death, we have to get our workload done in half the time. Guided by the moon, at least two hours before the sun is set to grace us with its presence, my family is at the mines, hammering away at the unforgiving walls, looking for little glittering stones that mean the difference between cabbage water or gooseling eggs for Reaping dinner. For me, it means the difference between my nephew having a life that is better than my own.

Jadeite Maverick Geo. He is the reason why I am going into the Games.

Clink! My pickaxe is like an extension of my body, just another appendage that I am in full control of. The rock walls that surround me burst and crumble at my feet, covering my Reaping pants with dust. Great! Just what all of Panem wants to see. No matter, maybe it will make more look like more of a threat.

"Head in the game, Geo!" Franco Ludwig, fellow miner and best friend of yours truly, stood behind me, smiling a toothy grin as he drove the point of his pickaxe into the wall and turned it into rubble. "What would Amber say if you didn't supply her father with colored stones for his shop?"

My dark gray eyes must have lit up, as he stopped working just long enough to point and laugh at me. "At least I have a girlfriend, slim."

"This is neither here nor there. But the sun is rising, Mav, so you best get your little cart going and be a good mule for the Luxury District."

Shit.

Outside of the mines, the light of the morning hits my eyes, making them sting, despite my good mood. This was the part of the day I used to dread; hateful words and spit are usually thrown my way, but now it is my favorite, thanks to one special girl.

Amber Prestige, the daughter of the biggest jeweler in the District and future Hunger Games victor herself, was the woman of my dreams. We had met in this very fashion, I was pulling my cart full of jewels to the back of her father's shop when she walked into my life and took the very air from my lungs. With her wispy wheat-colored hair and pale blue eyes, she was like an angel here in Panem. And when she smiled...forget about it. I was like putty in her hands.

Her father had all the money in the world, more so than even the mayor, and he paid through the nose to train Amber in the newly built Training Academy. Yes, the same one that produced our one and only victor, Dazzle Spinel; one of the driving forces behind my desire to volunteer.

"Watch it, cave dweller!"

This was another reason. No one respects us miners, only seeing the dirt caked beneath our finger nails and the thick layer of dust that never seems to leave our clothes. We are the unwashed masses, lower than the cobbled stone streets, and we are not to be treated like equals. Yet, we are the ones busting our bodies and generally killing ourselves to bring riches from the earth to their doorsteps. We are not allowed to step foot in the Training Academies, as they are for the children of the elite. Us poor children are only good for dying in the first four games.

Like Granite Jax, who was Reaped when we were both just twelve years old. Franco and I watched in horror as a Morphling addict from District Six tackled him to the ground and snapped his neck just hours into the game, turning our trio into a duo in an instant. We knew he was doomed from the moment Serendipity plucked his name from the bowl, but that didn't make the sound of his neck breaking any less harsh to our ears and it certainly didn't stop his wide, dead eyes from staring into our souls. He was just another miner's child to 1, but to us, he was our best friend and a fallen soldier in a war our parents and grandparents started by standing up to those enslaving us; the faraway enemy known as The Capitol.

A place, if luck is on my side, I will be seeing in a few hours time.

As per usual, Amber is waiting outside the back door of her father's shop, Prestige Jewellers, her shirt just low enough to do some damage to my self-control. Her kisses are like none that I have ever had the luxury of tasting on my lips; with each one, she plants a smaller one, like she was marking her territory or even more likely, giving my lips a reason to return to hers. It took everything inside of me not to give into the lust I was feeling at that very moment. However, I had to keep my urges to just that.

"I'm volunteering."

She pulled away from me.

"What's wrong?"

Her jaw hardened, her eyes went from lively to cold. "What do you mean, you're volunteering? Dazzle has the potential volunteers hand-picked, just as he did last year and you aren't even trained!"

"Dazzle's a toolbox!"

"That may just very well be, but he's still a victor! Our ONLY victor-" She paused, her darkening. "You are doing this because of my father, aren't you?"

I can't help but stare at my feet sheepishly.

"We just have to keep it secret for a little while longer, once I volunteer and win-"

I cut her off. "I'm sick of your father looking down on me, on my family and neighbours. I'm not ashamed of who I am or where I come from. I pull this cart and work every day in those mines so that one day, my nephew doesn't have to, that your father would respect me for knowing what a days work is. It's like you are ashamed of me, Amber."

She wrapped her arms around me. "I'm not ashamed, Maverick, you know what. It's just...complicated."

Behind her, the backdoor to the shop opened, revealing the 'complication' keeping us apart. He is a stern-looking fellow, with raven-colored hair and dark eyes that always seem too angry to be in the jewellery business. However, he did manage to give his daughter the harden-jaw stare that she seems to gravitate towards whenever we argue. Other than that, you couldn't tell that she came from him.

"Amber...be a dear and see to the customers in the front. I'd like to have a chat with our jewel donkey."

Just to be a smart ass, I bowed to Amber and let out a convincing, "Hee-haw!"

She giggled and headed into the shop, but not before blowing me a kiss once her father's back was turned. It took everything in me not to return that kiss, but instead stare down her prick of a father. He turned to make sure she was gone before starting on me.

"I know what's been going on between you and my daughter-"

My cheeks went crimson at the thought of all he knew about us. "Is that so?"

"Not particularity, but you just confirmed it for me." Shit. "My Amber is going places; she is in the top of her Training Class, has men like the Mayor's son and even a victor pining over her hand, and a knack for business. You are just a play thing to her and it would be best for her to put her toys away for good, if you catch my meaning."

"Dazzle wants her? That asshole!"

"Mr. Spinel is not an asshole, as you so bluntly proclaim. He brought pride and victory to our amazing District, which is nothing we could ever expect for a miner's child like you."

"I might be just some lowly teenage son of a miner, but I am more of a man that Dazzle could ever claim to be. If he was any type of man, he would take care of his own."

Quartz Prestige looked confused, yet still maintained a look of pure anger. Only he could pull that off. "What do you MEAN take care of his own?"

"It doesn't matter. He knows what he did."

"Whatever you say, cave dweller. You just stay far away from my Amber if you know what is good for you."

"I bet you'll be changing your tune after today."

With that, I turned my cart around, and made my way back towards my life in the dark. It is the people of this District like Quartz that make the people of the Capitol look human.

Before long, my workday is through and I was leave with less than an hour to be at the Reaping. Usually, Reaping morning is spent in awkward silence over a scarce breakfast of oatmeal and maybe some type of fruit to off-set the bland taste, but today is worse than usual. My nephew is giving my poor sister Amethyst a run for her money; his chubby toddler legs working overtime to run away from her as she attempts to clean his face, while my father is made to stay in bed, due to another coughing fit. The way it's looking, he won't even be able to see me off when I volunteer.

"Get him, Mav," she pleads before collapsing on the couch. "I can't keep up with him anymore."

With a smile on my face, I snatch my nephew up and burry my face into his exposed tummy while he laughs echoed in my ears and drooled on my head. It is moments like this that I wish that tool Dazzle was around, just so he could see what a real man is like. The little money that my parents and sister make goes to keeping our household running; food, clothing, my father's medicine, but mine...that goes to the wants and needs of Jadeite. Little Jad, as I call him, is the good that came out of some terrible, terrible nights.

Dazzle wasn't always a toolbox. At one point in time, he had been my sister's best friend, despite their being from different sides of District 1's social ladder. To them, it didn't matter, they enjoyed each other's company. And then, the Fifth Annual Hunger Games came between them. Dazzle beat out twenty-three others to make it home.

Once the novelty of our first winner wore off, no one was there to clean up the damage the games caused. Dazzle was left to fend for himself, through the nightmares and bouts of crippling depression. It was Amethyst that picked up the pieces and it was Amethyst that stopped him from his suicide attempt two months after he came home.

Jadeite is the result of those terrible nights.

Once training became the norm for the elite children of 1, he became a cockier version of his old self, leaving the self-loathing and alcohol behind him. And, in turn, he forgot all about my sister and his child that she was carrying. He won't even look in her direction when she walks on by, though a few times I did catch him trying to sneak a peak at Little Jad. He allowed the social hierarchy and dirty looks keep him away from the child he helped bring into the world. The child that I am loving.

The child that I am volunteering for.

"Are you planning something today, Mav?" My sister can read me like an open book; I'm just glad she waits until Mom and Dad were out of the room to spring it on me. "You have that look on your face, like something big is coming up."

"It's the only way, Am. Give me another way and I will gladly take it."

Her face grows crimson and her voice starts to raise. "Do you really think that risking your life and facing a possible death sentence is what is best for Jadeite?"

"Keep your voice down, I don't want mom and dad to know." I hiss. "And yes. If I can go in and win, not only will I have the money to give him the world, but people will respect the miners. Hell, I can buy the mines if I wanted to!" I sigh. "Think of all the good I can do."

"You could die."

"I could die in the mines."

"Bullshit. You are doing this for Amber."

She had me. "Yes, part of me is doing it for her. And for every single person that spat at me as I pulled my cart through these streets. And for dad. And you. And even for me. I need to prove that I am more than just a jewel-jockey."

"Don't do this, Maverick. Please... just think about it for a year. See how these games go and how the trained tributes do." She grabs my hand, which forces me to look her in the eyes, the same eyes my nephew has. "Don't leave me, ok? Don't leave Jadeite."

She uses the baby against me. Great.

"Fine, I'll give it a year. Then...I am going in."

If there is one thing I am known for, besides being the jewel-jockey of the District, is that I can't say no to Amethyst. With everything she has been through, plus the fact that she was always the one person I could always count on to have my back if the chips were down, she is my hero and I worship the ground she walks on. If she wanted me to burn myself with a hot iron, I probably would. It's been this way since we were children, but it grew immensely after her falling out with Dazzle and the birth of Jadeite. She took the strange looks for being so young and unmarried, huge with child and never gave them the satisfaction of her tears or words. She just continued to hold her head up high and do what needed to be done, for her son.

Judging by the light of the outside world, I know I have to get into high gear if I want to look somewhat human at The Reaping. My bath is lukewarm, which is better than the usual ice cold one we are forced to suffer, but today is special. Special enough to warrant slightly warm water to wash off the dust and grime of a hard morning's work. Before I know it, my golden brown hair that is usually hiding my dark gray eyes is slicked back and my only nice outfit, tan pants and button down black shirt, are covering my larger than most sixteen year old's body. As I exit my bedroom, I find Jadeite waiting for me, dressed in his best clothes that almost mirror my own.

"Hey, J-Man, you are looking good." His toothy smile brightens my mood. "You ready to go to the Town Square?"

"YES!" His screech hurts my ears and he leaps into my arms, hugging me. "Good luck, Uncle Mav-wick."

"Thanks, Jad."

Reaping day in District 1 never changes. We wait in line for what seems like forever, only to have some bastard Peacekeeper take blood like he's bleed a stuffed pig, sent to our numbered pens like the good piggies we are, and wait for some poor child of 1 to have their name called. Before the Training Centers were build in our District, that poor kid would before forced on stage, shown off to us one last time before they were sent to be slaughtered for entertainment, but now, thanks in part to Dazzle's win, we have trained volunteers, just itching to get to the stage first. It's quite entertaining to watch, actually – they will punch, kick, and even bite in some instances, to get to the stage before the rest. From what Amber says, Dazzle hand-picked this year's volunteers, but if I can get there first...

No. I promised Amethyst that I would wait.

This year, there isn't a line of barbarian-looking eighteen year olds, inching their way closer to the stage as the Reaping gets underway. Strange, for the past three years it has looked like a madhouse even before Serendipity takes center stage.

Speaking of Serendipity, his pompadour was even more distracting this year than it has been in years, this time blinding us with its neon green tint. Our feminine escort, Serendipity is as tall as he is fat, with tiny legs that I am surprised can support his large frame. He is like a caricature of what all Capitolites look like, I bet. His suit, which is bedazzled with tiny gemstones colored to match his hair, is form-fitting, leaving little to the imagination, and is milk-white. His overall look is so distracting, that I missed the female volunteer completely.

Staring at the crowd with a glint in her dark eyes is the girl that stands out among the golden-haired beauties of One. Her skin was slightly darker, her hair darker than that. She didn't give off the air of being a properly trained tribute, not like the other girls I've seen rush the stage, but she gave off a vibe of one not to be underestimated.

After what seemed like an eternity, Serendipity waddled over towards the other bowl and with much gusto, announced the name for all to hear.

"FRANCESCO LUDWIG!"

Franco. Sweet, effeminate Franco. The boy that wouldn't hurt a fly because that would be unfabulous.

Please, for the love of luxury, someone volunteer!

Dazzle hand-picked his volunteers this year. According to Amber, he had specially trained a pair just for this. How did this girl get through without the chosen girl taking the glory that was promised to her? And, worst still, why is no pompous rich asshole taking Franco's place?

"Queer!"

"FREAK!"

"Cave-Dweller!"

The taunting gets worse and worse as Franco reluctantly makes his way towards the stage. And that's when I see it. Or, rather, him.

Citron Golding. The mayor's son and closeted former boyfriend of Franco -slash- supposed wooer of my girlfriend. And judging by the smug look on his face, he was Dazzle's pick to go into the games. He's refusing to volunteer, which is fine for him, since he still has a year to go before he's no longer eligible. Out of spite, he is letting Franco walk to his certain death...I can't let that happen, not to my best friend.

"I VOLUNTEER!"

A scream erupts from just outside the pens and I recognize it right away as coming from my mother. I can't bear to even glance in her general direction, and I quickly make my way towards the stage, but not before getting a hug from Franco. My mind is racing as I go through the motions of what a good volunteer should be doing, especially since this is being broadcasted to all of Panem.

"Shake hands, you two."

Ariella Dawson. The outcasted daughter of a District Ten man and a local woman. Why I didn't see it before, I'll never know. She was a looker, that's for sure, but a trained killer? No. She didn't seem to have that in her. Like the jewel-jockeys, she is on the lower end of the District One social standings for not fitting into what they consider "typical beauty". Girls like Amber are put on pedestals, while Ariella is shunned and teased and made to feel like she is less than nothing. Some things never change in the town of luxury.

Serendipity leads up into the Justice Center, babbling on and on about what an honor it is for him to be here, representing us. Of course, he is babbling about having another pair of volunteers, but I can tell he's upset that we aren't older or a flashy as the past two years. Before I have chance to say a word, I am shoved into a luxurious room, complete with leather couch that probably came right from a factory in Ten. Note to self, thank District Ten tributes for the comfy couch.

After a few minutes, the door to my luxury suite flings open and I am met with a hard slap to the face.

"YOU PROMISED!"

Amethyst. The hurt look in her eyes makes me stare at the floor with a sheepish little boy look plastered on my face. On her hip, Jadeite is crying because he has no idea what is going on. It breaks my heart to see my sister in this state and my soul is shattered from hearing my nephew wail like this. I can handle a lot of things, but this isn't one of them.

"I know, Am, I know. But...it's Franco!"

She sighs, knowing I am right. From an early age, we all knew Franco was gay. It was a running gag between Granite, Franco, and myself since we were kids and something that we, as a duo, keep up with in memory of our fallen comrade. Sure, Franco worked in the mines, same as I did, but he wasn't the strongest guy around, plus his sweet nature and sexuality would make him an easy target to a goon from 2 or even an outer-district kid.

Besides, I couldn't stand by and watch another of my friends die in these games.

"Dad didn't make it to the Reapings, he won't be able to see you off."

As I thought. Dad can barely get out of bed once the workday is through and I knew the Peacekeepers would give him a free pass, due to his health problems. Once I win, those problems will be a thing of the past.

"And Mom? Amber? That walking hard-on I volunteered for?"

She laughed. "Mom and Franco are outside, arguing over who gets to be the one to slap you. Seems I beat them to it."

With that, she starts to sob. It's the only time I've ever seen her cry and all I can do is hold my hero until she is pulled from me by Peacekeepers. This triggers in me the primitive, built-in need to protect my sister and I slug the Peacekeeper manhandling my sister and nephew.

"I'm the volunteer here, boys. Touch my sister like that again, and I will make your lives hell when I come back here." I pull my sister up off of the ground and pick up my nephew one last time.

"Jadeite...I need you to take care of Mommy, ok? Can you do that?"

He nods, almost as if he understands what I am saying. "I wuv you, Uncle Mav-wich."

Tears pepper my eyes. "I love you too, J-Man."

Amethyst kisses me on the cheek and exits the room, but not before stepping over the Peacekeeper I knocked out cold.

Seconds go by. They quickly turn to minutes, which turns to a half an hour. Surely, my mother and best friend aren't too far behind? Even the Peacekeeper with the glass jaw has pulled himself together enough to leave in a defeated huff.

The door opens once again, but instead of Franco or my mother or even the love of my life, it's the last person I want to see right now.

Dazzle.

"Where is my mother?"

He scoffs. "Thanks to your little outburst, you are barred from any further visits. Now, come along like a good little donkey. The Capitol waits for no one."

"Do you even hear yourself?"

Once again, he scoffs, which sends ringlets of anger up my spine. "I don't need to, I'm a victor."

It takes everything in me not to have repeat of my last outburst. Instead, I turn to my words. "Some victor. You are just a pathetic boy."

"Remember, Mavie-boy, as your mentor, I am the one in charge of divvying up the sponsorship money that you two are bound to rake in. I doubt the girl is going to make it very far, so if you want me to put my money on the victor of the 7th games, then you better bite your tough around me. Got it?"

"Fuck you, Dazzle. I knew you before you became a victor, ok? You used to play dollies because Am made you!"

His face dropped. "How is Amie?"

"You aren't allowed to ask me that."

Without saying a word, he walks out of the room with his proverbial tail between his legs. Once again, the same Peacekeeper I hit barges in and grips me up by the arm and tosses me into the hallway, where Arielle is also waiting. We make eye contact for just a moment and I notice the tears she had most likely tried to hide away.

"Are you going to be alright?" She nodded, but said nothing. "Well then, off to the Capitol!"

Even if she's supposed to be my competition, I'm not a complete bastard and still care. I mean, we are both District 1, even if we come from completely different sides of the luxurious coin. She is the only connection I have to home and I can't turn my back on that, even if there can only be one winner. If there is one thing being a poor miner's kid has taught me, it's loyalty. Even if it's blind.

Surrounded by Peacekeeper, we are whisked away to a car that quickly takes us to the train. Once there, the general circus of The Games truly begins, as cameras flash at us and questions are thrown our way. I ignore the ones directed towards me, which are generally, "Do you know the boy you volunteered for?" Meanwhile, most of them are begging with Arielle to explain why she looks different than the rest of the cookie-cutter girls in One. Why can't they just leave us alone and gather our thoughts; I mean, it's not like we didn't just make a dission that will most likely end our lives.

My jaw dropped when I saw the inside of the train; it's like nothing I've ever seen before in my life, which is sad, given my district. Next to me, Arielle seems just as in awe of it all, which is to be expected. However, I doubt that she has never known hunger or been without some form of hedonism, while the closet I've gotten was the stones in the mines that I'm only allowed to collect for others.

Well, that's not completely true.

My hand went instinctively to my pants pocket, were a tiny ruby resides. Actually, it's not even a full ruby, just part of one that chipped off when my pickax connected with it. Before anyone but Franco could see, I placed it in my shoe and planned on using it in an engagement ring for Amber, when the time was right. Since the day I found it, it has never left my pocket and today is no exception. At least I'll have a piece of her with me when I am fighting for our future together.

"Go in, go in children!" Serendipity's voice is almost shrill. "See all the Capitol has to offer you before you even arrive."

There is a large dinning table, obviously made of pure mahogany. Spread across it, much to my mouth-watering delight, is a feast fit for a king. Or, two tributes on our way to our possible death. Velvet adorns the walls and floors and another leather couch, this one twice the size of one in the Goodbye Room, faces a giant TV that stares blankly at me. Instead of taking the rest of the...beauty, I guess you could say, my focus became the meal in front of me. I've never seen so much food in one place.

Serendipity must have noticed the drool running down my chin. "Go on, children. Go on. Eat and be merry. Mr. Spinel's car should be pulling up any second and then we shall be off."

Is it bad that I hoped it would crash before it reached the train?

"Now, you two aren't the ones I hand-picked from the Academy."

Damn, so much for wishful thinking.

"Ariella...the bastard daughter of Ten and One. So much promise I see in you, so much hope. You managed to beat the girl that I hand-picked to win this thing, but no matter. You shall be good for sponsors, which will help you in the long run."

And then he turns to me.

"And Mr. Volunteer himself. While it might please you to know that the rival for your girlfriend's heart isn't able to compete in these games and chance returning home to her after she ditches you for someone who deserves her-"

He doesn't have a chance to finish that sentence, as my fist connects with his face.

"You bastard! You dead-beat son of a bitch!" Ariella watches in horror as I lunge for him again, sending Serendipity into hysterics. "You aren't a god, you are a coward! A child that walked away from a little boy that needs you and a girl that's only mistake was thinking she could fix a broken-down piece of shit like you!"

Before I know it, Ariella is grabbing me by the arm and yanking me off of Dazzle. "He's not worth it, Geo."

"Screw this!"

I slam my body down on the couch and put my head in my hands. What the hell did I get myself into?


	2. District 2

**Supernova Amaranth, 18 - District 2 female**

**The Giggling Gummy Bear**

* * *

"Mommy," a small voice shouts. I feel the something get on the edge of my bed and I sigh as my son begins to bounce.

"Lexton," I say, sitting up in my bed, "What are you doing."

I tackle him gently and attack him with kisses.

"Uncle Mason told me to go wake you up? He said it's a big day."

"Did he?" I question jokingly.

Lexton nods. "Do you have to go to the gym today?" he asks.

"Nope," I smile and look at the clock. It's 7:30am and the reaping will be in two hours.

"How about we go to daddy's house?" I ask him.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Lexton shouts. Lexton loves his daddy and trips to his daddy's house are his favorite part of the we.

Thirty minutes later, Lexton and I are both bathed and ready for the reaping. My older brother, Mason has already left for the Justice Building, to go to the Victors' debriefing, albeit I see no point considering the fact that everyone, the newest victor included, knows what is bound to happen.

"We're here!" Lexton shouts, getting excited.

"Yes!" I agree. "We are here."

I knock on the door, and Carter answers it.

"Daddy!" shouts my little boy.

"Lexton!" Carter shouts back. He picks Lexton up and twirls him around before handing him back to me.

"Hey," Carter says to me. "You look gorgeous, Nova."

"Thanks," I kiss him on the cheek.

"Come in," he says

"Carter," a familiar voice calls. "Kemp refuses to wake up."

Carter leaves the room to go check on his younger brother.

I love Carter's family. His parents died two years ago, so it's just him and his brother and sister, Kemp and Braylee, who are nine year old fraternal twins.

"Hey Supernova," Braylee says. No matter what I tell her Braylee insists on calling me by my full name.

"Hi, Braylee," I reply.

"How's my nephew doing?" she says walking over to Lexton.

Lexton gurgles, and Braylee grins.

"Do you like my dress?" Braylee asks me.

She spins around.

"It's so pretty," I coo. Braylee smiles.

"Carter bought it for me from them seamstress in town."

"Cool, you think that he'll buy me one?"

"Maybe," Braylee smiles.

I hear screaming coming from the room that Carter and Kemp are in.

"Kemp!" I hear Carter shout. "Stop."

Carter hates the way his little brother acts. He once told me that his little brother had a special type of disorder that gave him an extreme aversion to touch, and made him scream all the time.

"You wanna play numbers?" Braylee questions me.

I turn around. "Totally."

We are in the middle of the game, almost reaching a record of eleven, when Kemp and Carter walk in, messing up our concentration.

I take a look at both boys. "You guys look handsome."

Carter smiles. "Let's get this show on the road."

I hate the reaping, unlike most careers the reaping is a pretty dreadful time for me. Thankfully, I don't have to worry about anyone but myself, with Carter having turned nineteen two days ago, and the twins ineligible, it's just me fighting the odds.

I only have seven slips, but anything can happen.

"Welcome! Welcome!" a high pitched voice fills the square.

Everyone looked at the stage. "Please enjoy this video brought to you from out nation's Capitol."

"War, terrible war..." I tuned the video out, daydreaming about what Carter and I could do after the reaping. We could take Lex and the twins to the splash park.

The splash park was Lexton's favorite place on earth, it was from before the Dark Days, and some teens had worked hard to get it up and running again, it was free of charge and everyone was welcome.

"Wasn't that just wonderful," our escorts voice brings me out of my thoughts.

"And now let us introduce our victors, Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games, Mr. Mason Brown, victor of the 6th Hunger Games, our very own Amanda Sterling.

I have only met Amanda once or twice, she has this disease, called bipolar disorder where she acted like two different people. When Amanda is happy she is fun to be around, but when she was angry things can get unpleasant.

"Let's select a courageous young woman to go into the arena and represent this wonderful district."

She places one of her perfectly manicured nails in the bowl.

She picks a slip of paper opens it and reads it. "Supernova Amaranth."

I realize that she's called my name. No one will volunteer, I'm sure of that, I get the highest scores in everything in the female training, and I rank pretty high with the guys.

I'm getting nervous, I know I shouldn't, and then the tics start. I try to calm myself, knowing that it's the only way that they will stop, but I can't seem too.

I have a rare form of Tourette's Syndrome and I tic when I get nervous.

I smirk and confidently make my way up to the stage, managing to keep the tics away for the length of my stroll.

"My, my, the only sibling of the Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games and must I say you look gorgeous," the escort tells me.

And now for our boy tribute. She pulls the slip out of the bowl and barely reads the name when a boy races forward.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

"Wonderful! Wonderful!"

"Please come up and tell me your name, young man," the escort smiles.

I tune them out, it's standard in District 2. Besides, I already know him. It's Hero, the one of the most celebrated Careers there is.

"Give a round of applause to this years' tributes!" our escort shrieks.

She motions for Hero and I to shake hands, and we do.

Goodbyes are tough, Braylee and Kemp come in, both are crying and I pull them into a hug.

"I love you both," I tell them. "And when I come back a Victor, I'm gonna buy you ALL the pretty dresses in the world. And Kemp, I'm gonna get you a special tablet like the ones they have in the Capitol.

We stand there and hug until a peacekeeper comes in. "I love you two, I'll see you soon."

Next comes in Carter and Lexton. Carter's crying as he dashes over and hugs me. "You have to win," he sobs. "I can't lose you. You're my heart, my life, you, Lex, and the twins are my everything. Please don't leave me."

I hug him as tight as I can. "I'll win. I'll win for you and Lex, and Braylee, and Kemp."

"I was gonna give this to you after the reaping, but I think giving it to you now is more appropriate."

He pulls a necklace out his pocket. "Lex and I found this is the quarry." He points to the beautiful rock on the necklace.

"I love you," he whispers into my hair. "Don't you ever forget it."

And just like that visiting hours are over. And it hits me, my own mother didn't even care enough to come, whatever she's doing, I hope it's worth it.

I hate trains, before the dark days, I had heard so many stories of trains going off tracks. I know trains are much safer now, but I'm still scared.

I haven't seen Hero all this time, but it doesn't worry me. As I board the the train, I turn and face my District and then, with a smile on my face, I wave.

* * *

**Hero Da'Rouge, 15 - District 2 male**

**Axe Smelling God**

I stare the dummy down as I grip the war hammer and throw the weapon with pleasure. The thick woven hilt leaves my tan fingers as it flies through the air and crushes the dummy, denting the training wall. I give a smirk as the trainer looks on with surprise and quickly shifts towards the wall to inspect its integrity. I leave as the trainer continues to marvel at the dent as I come upon my friends sitting in the corner.

"Hey guys, I have a joke," I say as they sigh with frustration.

"This one's really good, I promise," I say, excited as I go through my memory to conjure the joke up.

"What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire?" I ask as I smooth my curly black hair down. I search for a response as my friends give surprised looks.

"Frostbite," I chuckle and I feel my cheeks shift to a light red as I continue to laugh.

"Boo," chuckles Slate. He ruffles my hair as the rest of my friends smile.

"So anyone volunteering today?" asks Sofia. She twists her long brown dread locks.

"Not me, I will never be ready," says Thaila. She looks surprised at the question and smooths her ruffled, red hair.

"I'm volunteering," I say with confidence as my friends look surprised and upset.

"Please don't, haven't you heard of victor hysteria?" asks Sofia.

"What's that?" I ask as I come and sit beside Thaila and put my chin on her shoulder.

"It happened to the last three victors, when they won the games they seemed to have gained an extra personality or have changed completely. It's due to the lack of sleep and hunger games instinct to be on your toes at all times," says Sofia. She looks scared and she and Thaila leave us.

"Don't listen to Sofia," says Slate as he pats me on the back and we walk out of the training center. We walk through the beautiful city of District 2 and the smell of muffin wafts through the air. I quickly go over and glance at the bakery window. He searches for the blueberry muffin and pays for the delicate. I bite into the soft buttery flesh of the muffin and I continue to walk alongside Slate.

We come towards the steps of his house and I look with surprise at the large size.

"What's up Hero?" asks Slate as he stares me down. I broke his gaze.

"It's just so massive," I say with awe at the beautiful columns and the imprinted Greek art.

"Shut up dude, your house is way bigger than mine. Also by the way, when can I actually come hang out at your house?" asks Slate as I stare down his light gray eyes.

"Oh when I clean my room," I say as my eyes widen and I walk away towards my house. I look behind me as he goes up to the massive oak doors of his mansion. I walk behind my fake house andI feel the rough outer walls and marvel at the beauty. I still remember when I was actually rich and could afford anything I wanted. That all changed when the Capitol started the Hunger Games and my father gambled huge amounts of money for the stronger tributes. Soon the tributes died and he started losing money and we became bankrupt. I continue to walk down the alley way and come upon my two story home. I watch as my mother walks through the door as well with her cleaning wear.

"Hey honey I just found the cutest shoes and I just had to buy them," says my mother, Jovial. She brushes her brown colored skin and smiles wide.

"Hello mother," I say as I walk towards the living room to see my father, Conqueror, watching last year's games with my little brother Champion. My father has light tan skin with ruffled reddish-brown hair and Champion looks exactly like him. I watch as he gives a sour look to the champion of the sixth hunger games. I head towards my room and I look around to find a suit on the bed. I rush towards it and placed the black suit on. I walk towards the stairs and head out of my house. I rush up the alley and try to get to Slate before he comes to my house. I hear a soft ping of the doorbell as I rush towards the front.

"Hey Slate," I say, out of breath as I walk towards the front and he's ringing the doorbell.

"Hey dude, I've been ringing your doorbell for ten minutes," says Slate. We walk off towards the town square.

The reaping stage is set and ready and we look around to see the petite escort. I notice the electric green wig and the neon blue corset with a hot pink skirt and know it is Faith Reynolds. I looked around as Faith giggles and flirts with the past victors. They look sick.

"Gag," I say as Slate laughs and we watch as the rest of the teens fill up the remaining spaces. I watch as Faith looks around.

"Hello all of District 2," she says through her thick, chipper, Capitol accent. She waits for response and she looks around for the mayor who comes and takes his place beside her.

"Alright I guess we can get this started," says Faith as she walks slowly towards the females' bowl. She swivels her light pink skinned hand around and plucks the name of the lucky girl.

"Please come forward, Supernova Amaranth," Faith calls and I see a pretty girl with long black hair and light tan skin walk towards the front. The escort comes towards the boys' bowl and she swiftly choses a name for the male tribute.

"Stoner Barwell," she screeches as a sixteen year old was chosen and slowly walks towards the front.

"I volunteer," I shout as I quickly run through the boys and grace the stage. I am handed the mic.

"I'm Hero Da'Rouge," I say confidently as I shake hands with Supernova. We are rushed into the Justice Building.

I look around as my family swiftly walk through the door and they look me up and down. Their faces are sad.

"What's wrong?" I ask as they look upset and give an unsatisfied look. My mother gives a small smile as she comes towards me and gives me a huge bear hug.

"Honey stay strong and on your toes at all times," she says as she stands beside my father. He shakes my hand and they slowly exit the room. I wait a little while longer and Faith strolls through the room. She kisses my forehead and grabs my wrist as I am taken towards the awaiting train. I slide through the door to see Supernova lying on the couch and she seems distant.

"Hello Superno-"

"Just Nova," she says as she gives me a frosty attitude. I seem to have upset her.

"Nova what do get when you cross a vampire with a snowman," I say quickly. "Frostbite."

I laugh at my own joke, and Nova gives a small smile at least.


	3. District 3

**Nitya Allardyce, 12 - District 3 female**

**Apples of Idunn**

* * *

_I am running through a thicket of trees. Roots aim to trip me at every step, and I stumble, my mind blank except for a single thought: I am going to die. I break through the undergrowth into a small clearing, but a knife hits me in the achilles tendon, causing me to fall with a cry of pain. Blood begins seeping through my socks and shoes, staining the bottom of my pants a muted ruby. I scramble towards the other side of the clearing, barely dragging myself. The other Tribute emerges slowly, a wicked smile on his face._

_He approaches until I am up against a tree, nowhere to go. He brings up the blade, this one a combat knife, rather than a throwing knife. I can tell now he plans to make no short work of me. I can see the malicious, bloodthirsty gleam in his eye, the one I have seen in so many Games before. I start trembling and crying, begging._

"_Please, please don't. My family needs me, I-I can't die please!" I start begging, though I know all hope is lost. I only wish my family couldn't see this. The Tribute ignores me and brings down the blade, piercing my chest. He pulls it out as I shout in agony, my body spasming. He does it again, and the scene fades to darkness._

I sit up in bed, cold sweat on my face. My eyes are wide as I search the shadows of my room, looking for anything that might be hiding behind them. I go over to the window and sit, staring out at the darkness, watching the stars. Though most of them are blacked out by the smog hanging in the air, and the lights coming from the Capitol hundred of miles away.

I remain staring out the window at the sleeping District Three, watching the sun rise over the guard towers. No smoke rises from the factories. Today we are 'blessed' with the day off. The day to celebrate another year of living. the day to be with our families, no matter who goes to the Capitol. Today is Reaping Day. Despite the fact that my family desperately needs food, we have no work to do, and no school.

I couldn't sleep last night. I was sent into a silent rage from remembering the Hunger Games past, and the tragic, horrid, violent, _barbaric_deaths of teenagers, no older than I, that commemorate them.

Daddy always says I'm older than the years I've been on this miserable planet. He'd tap my forehead and whisper "in here". I'd giggle, and he'd grin. I miss those days. When I didn't have to fear for myself every year. Only for Finnia. But that is almost as terrible, if not more so.

I hear Finnia sit up. I don't turn, but I can feel her pretty eyes staring at me. No, _into_me.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asks. I simply nod. "Too much thinking again, huh Nit?" I almost allow a smile to cross my face. That's my nickname. Sometimes Nitpicker, if I get particularly OCD. I only nod again though, refusing to allow the sides of my face quirk up. The weight on my mind is far too heavy.

"Come on," my sister says softly, getting up from the creaky old bed that we share. "Let's go get some breakfast. Big day today, right?"

Breakfast is silent as we each shovel our gray, cold, mushy Tesserae slop into our ever-hungry stomachs. No words are needed to express the anxiety and apprehension we all feel for yet another Reaping Day. My first.

After breakfast, Finnia and I bathe and dress. Finnia puts on a mint green tunic-like dress, with only one shoulder. She looks beautiful as she ties back her fiery red hair in a ponytail. She smiles at me softly as I slip into my own Reaping Clothes. A plain button-up t-shirt and a grey skirt, and my sister braids my hair with little beads in it. Finnia says I'm beautiful all the time, but I don't believe so. She is so much prettier. Her eyes dazzle and sparkle every time she smiles, her fiery red hair that frames her paper-white skin makes her look like a fiery goddess, ready to cleanse this dirty world with flames. I'm just a light redhead with dull eyes and a freckled face. Barely a treenager. Finia is practically a woman. Any man in the District would be lucky to have her.

As we make ready to go to the square, I grab the lightning bolt Finnia carved and presented to me on my twelfth birthday, a few weeks ago. Hopefully it will bring us both luck today.

Finnia takes my hand tightly as we make our way to the square. This is usually a happy place, one of the most cheerful places in the District. But today the market stands and busy people are replaced with banners and grim Peacekeepers. The cameras perch in the buildings like vultures, watching us as if we were their prey. Which I suppose, in a way, we are.

"It's okay, Nit," Finnia whispers, "you're not gonna get picked." I nod, trying to fight the scared tears in my eyes. Even though my name is in that ball eighteen times. Fin is in there twenty-five.

To others, those who don't know me -which is to say everyone but Finnia- I am a cute, naive, innocent, quiet girl who wouldn't hurt a fly. I am Nitya Allardyce, that orange-haired wallflower who never says a word, the one with the beautiful sister. I am the girl who would never survive the Games.

But to Finnia, I am the little sister who acts older than she should, wise beyond her years, who only expresses her true feelings in writing. Or on the occasions something bubbles up inside that makes me explode. I am Nitpicker, the self-conscious, insecure girl who could do so much if I only had the courage to try.

I put on a steely face as fake as the ridiculous eyelashes on our escort, Phoebe O'Mally's face. Today I must be Nitya Allardyce, the girl who never says a word. Avoid attracting attention to myself, as if that will worsen my fate. If Phoebe notices me, she will miraculously pull my name out. But of course that is ridiculous.

The sign-in only takes a moment, but I cringe all the same as the Peacekeeper with the angry face pricks my finger and takes blood. Finnia and I are separated as we are herded to separate pens, like cows for slaughter. Phoebe looks at us as if we were all tasty bovines, about to be carved and server to her on a silver tray. She gives a bubbly wave to us as the noise quiets down. The mayor, Julius Shane -an older man of about forty with wide framed glasses that make his mousy face look small compared to his eyes, with thin blonde hair and boney fingers- and our Capitol-sent mentor, Kellye Collins -a woman with twin pigtails with blue and green highlights and a face painted to look like a skull- sit a few feet to the right of Phoebe. Phoebe and Kellye are babbling excitedly, and Juilius looks over the crowd solemnly.

"Happy Hunger Games!" She tweets as she approaches the microphone. She introduces the mayor, who steps up and reads the Treaty of Treason. A baby starts crying somewhere in the crowd of lucky-to-be-alive adults. I focus on that rather than the incessant, monotone droning of a history lesson I've heard every year I've been on this miserable planet, and will hear annually for the remainder of my days. However numbered they may be.

Finally, as the mayor returns to his seat, Phoebe stands again and flutters over to the girls ball, squawking "Ladies first!" before plunging her hand into the depths of the ball. She pulls out a name and I squint at the neatly folded piece of paper as if by some miracle I'll be able to see the name it holds.

My heart pounds in my ears as Phoebe returns to the microphone. Time slows down.

Opening the name that holds the doomed teenager with delicately manicured nails, she reads out very clearly: "Nitya Allardyce." And my heart stops. It stays still a moment before picking up again, at a seemingly impossible speed.

_What? What did she say? There Must be some mistake- mispronunciation or... or something! No, it can't be me, _I think panickenly.

My mind whirls like a hurricane and my stomach volts like a tsunami. I'll be leaving my already broken family... to go fight -and die- in an arena full of Tributes much bigger, stronger and well-fed than I.

Only about ten seconds of silence pass before someone shoves me forcefully in the back. This brings me slamming back down to earth. Hard.

Mechanically, I force my legs to make their way up to the stage to stand next to the stage next to Phoebe. She smiles at me before chirping "Any volunteers?" I find Finnia's beautiful face in the crowd. I see tears on her face as she begins to open her mouth. I shake my head quickly in her direction. I hope she gets the message. She is being held back by a few of her surrounding friends, screeching my name. I continue to shake my head. "I'm sorry," I call to her, Finnia, I'm sorry, stay there."

"Well then, onto the boys!" Phoebe chirps after a moment of silence. She glances between Finnia and I, but we both have our eyes locked on each other. Phoebe trots over to the ball holding the boys' names, and digs around for a few moments.

People normally hate it when twelve-year-olds are chosen. Why didn't anyone volunteer for me?

"The males Tribute from District Three is... Sebastian Grande!"

The boy slowly walks up to the stage, hassled by a few Peacekeepers. I notice him mouth to someone in the crowd. Probably a friend or family member. When he finally makes his way to stand across from me, Phoebe next to us, she orders us to shake hands. I meekly clutch his hand, looking up into his face. Sebastian is older and bigger and taller than I am, I know I wouldn't stand much of a chance if I were in a fight with him. I can only hope it won't have to come to that. Phoebe rushes us into the Justice Building and we are separated into two different rooms, so that we can have our heart wrenching goodbyes.

I sit alone in the musty old chair for only a few minutes before the doors open and my family barges in. Finnia and my mother have tears running down their faces, and my father looks damn near close. Finnia pulls me into a tight hug. My parents watch, letting us have a moment. Finnia strokes my hair lightly. "Please, no, don't be picked, please," she murmurs.

"There's nothing you can do, Fin," I whisper to her, tears stinging in my own eyes as my throat closes.

"You have to come back. You just-" sob, "have to!"

"I will. I'll try my best, I promise." She steps away slightly. She pushes some hair from my face. I look up into her pretty eyes.

"You are so, so beautiful, Nit," she says softly. I smile quietly.

"Thanks," I say softly, a tear trailing down my cheek.

My mother comes and wraps her arms around me, and my father joins the hug.

"You can do this, Nitya, if you try. You're clever, and you're not bad with those combat knives either. Just don't give up. Make sure you have food and water. Please keep safe, baby girl." I nod, burying my face in his shirt.

The Peacekeeper comes in, telling them that time is up. I rush over to Finnia, flinging my arms around her. "No, please don't take them no!" I scream as the Peacekeeper calls another in to drag Finnia and I apart. "I love you! Always!" I call to them. Finnia begins to reply before the door is slammed shut. I collapse onto the floor, a few agonized sobs escaping me. I don't care that crying is practically a label of weakness. I'm twelve! I'm already a target.

A few minutes later, my friend Ashby and Ovid come in. They both hug me and I hug them back.

"You can do this, Nitya, I believe in you," Ovid whispers.

"Thanks, O," I reply softly. After about two minutes, Ashby says she has to leave. I hug her tightly and say goodbye, She exits the room, leaving Ovid and I alone.

"You know, Nitya," he begins awkwardly. "I know you probably think you're not coming back, but I think you could. But I just want to tell you something before you go..." He bites his lip and looks over at me.

"What, Ovid?" I ask softly. He smiles slightly.

"I guess this is the first time I've been presented with the courage to tell you... but I've kind of had a crush on your for a while and..." he sighs, moves over and kisses me briefly. I pull sharply away and Ovid's eyes fill with hurt.

"Ovid, I'm so sorry," I say, taking his hand, "I like you too, but I can't afford to allow something like this to distract me. If I come back, I promise we can do this all you want." I smile and kiss his cheek as the Peacekeepers come in and take him.

"Good luck," Ovid says as he stands. "Thanks," I whisper, watching him him go as my heart breaks once again.

I am ushered from the room out to a car, where Sebastian also is. I stare out the window at the cameras, which are itching to catch a glimpse of us. We arrive at the train station and Phoebe makes us stand at the door of the train while the cameras absorb every detail of us for analysis by the commentators. I feel small next to Sebeastian. He is years older and much taller.

After a few minutes of being blinded by cameras, the door behind us slide open and we are allowed inside. Phoebe ushers us into the dining car for a bite to eat. The train slowly pulls from the station, picking up speed. I sit down across from Sebastian and next to Phoebe. Kellye comes in and sits next to Sebastian. The adults talk nonstop about the capitol and how lucky we are to get to see it in person. I simply stare out the window at the shrinking District Three until all that is visible are the dark watchtowers, even though they too are far behind.

I just nod my head as I tune them out, forking food into my mouth as slowly as possible so that I don't appear rude. My my stomach rumbles and my mouth waters at the sight and smell of all the luxurious food!

I don't look at my counterpart, knowing that any contact may very well end up in a bad situation. The less comfortable you are with a person, the easier it is to kill them. Hopefully it won't come to that. A half an hour after dinner to the minute, we have dessert in the other cart and watch the recaps. I keep careful watch of the other Tributes. The ones from the Career Districts are all muscular and well fed, and I am one of the only twelve year olds. I think the only other one is the boy from District Five and the boy from Nine. Even he looks like they would win in a fight against me. That puts into a grim perspective of how hopeless I am. This of course sends me into a rage, and leave the room to my temporary bedroom. I shed the Reaping Clothes and look through the closet. I pick out a comfortable silk nightgown. But I don't sleep yet. I sit cross-legged on the floor next to the window which makes up the entire wall, the moon shining in. I take deep, calming breath, like Finnia taught me. This helps to control my emotions and puts me in an easier state of mind. I feel myself floating through an endless void, weightless. This allows clearer thoughts and decisions. I have a feeling it will help me in the Games\, although I may have to tap into my anger to help fuel me should I need strength.

Finally though, my eyelids grow heavy and I get into bed. I drift off into yet another night of restless sleep, dreams of my home and my family turning to crude nightmarish images of blood and pain.

* * *

**Sebastian Grande, 17 - District 3 male**

**Mikey Jacquez**

* * *

Sliding my finger, feeling the wintriness of the mat, I notice that Techno is not lying next to me. Techno is my thirteen-year-old little brother; he's probably the only good thing I have left in my life. I walk him to school every day as every single lady in the ruins of District 3 eyes me closely.

Techno wears the same hair as I do but his is more bronze—I have reddish hair that reflects to a golden color when the sunlight meets it. Techno also observes everything with the same hazel eyes I have. The only thing we have a big difference in is our skin color: mine is bronze while his is pale. He got his pale skin from my mother, who was probably the most beautiful woman that ever lived here in District 3 and Panem. She had light brown hair that went down to her lower back and always looked at me with her deep brown eyes. Her perfectly shaped lips were the color of light salmon; perfect.

It was three years ago when the unbelievable happened, and I remember that day like it was just yesterday. I take a look at the bracelet she gave me—and actually made herself—and I can't help it but release a tear or two, letting them fall and drip on my frosty bed.

_She was hopeless, perishing, deceasing, and looked dreadful laying on the bed that Techno and I sleep on now. When she'd lie there, the bed had a feeling of warmth all over it, except when my father would come home, seize her, and slam her to the wall so hard that all of District 3 could hear the chaos and commotion. One day, I stepped into the room. I was fourteen back then and looked like Techno. My mother was coughing, coughing all of her organs out, breathing the last bits of air she could. I eyed her closely to see the giant bruise near her left perfectly shaped eyebrow and the scar near her lips. I took in a deep breath as I approached her slowly so I wouldn't startle her to death. She opened her eyes slowly while I chewed on my lower lip hard._

_I couldn't even look at her without having the urge to snivel everywhere. I felt like breaking down and let all my emotions out, but I had to be brave. I had to be brave for my mother._

_"Mom," I softly said, "Mom."_

_I felt tears creeping out of my eyes, ready to flow down my face and into my mouth to leave a salty taste. I blinked them away as I reached my hand to touch her soft forehead._

_"Sebastian…" she could barely even speak; I could barely hear her. "Can you… hand me that… br…"_

_She pointed her shaky hand at the small table near the bed. I looked over and spotted the only thing that was placed on it. A bracelet. I remembered that particular bracelet because I would see her making it herself every morning before Techno and I would walk to school. I deftly grabbed it and handed it to her as she scrutinized it for a few moments afterwards._

_"I want you to have this," she handed back to me. "Please. It was mine…" she coughed more. "And now it's yours…"_

_I scanned it and said, "Thank you."_

_I wrapped my arms around her delicately and tenderly as I kissed her cheek. I felt her flimsy and fragile hands touch my back a little; I didn't want that moment to stop. But it did._

Within three days, she was gone, gone forever. The only thing I have now is Techno, the bracelet, and my father. But I don't even want to think about my father. I do not want to think about that stupid bastard. I remember when I was Techno's age and I'd hide under my arms near the corner of my room so my father wouldn't see me. Once, he returned home drunk, holding an empty glass bottle of whiskey, and barged into my room saying, "It's time for a lesson, you worthless piece of shit."

After that, I can't remember anything but me crying for help, feeling my head stinging from the bottle of whiskey stamping my skull. My mother couldn't do anything about it or else, God only knows what my father would've done to her.

I shiver out of bed and feel Techno's body with my feet as I almost step on him.

"Whoa little one," I say as Techno yawns and looks at me, "Why are you on the floor, buddy?"

Techno looks puzzled and looks around everywhere.

"I don't know," he says, sounding amazed. His voice is getting deep now; however, it tends to sound high-pitched at times. "I guess I fell and didn't even feel it."

We both snort a little when I respond saying, "Dumbo, anyway, c'mon it's morning."

It's not a good morning today though. I don't want to make it even more unpleasant than it already is with my negative attitude, so I act like I'm in a great mood this morning, for Techno because I know that he's terrified inside and out. Today's Reaping Day.

When I look around the kitchen and the other room, I realize that Father's not home. _Thank God_. I shove a pair of dark brown pants on and place a white buttoned shirt on as well. Techno wears the same thing so he's like a miniature version of me… if that's the word.

"Don't be nervous," I plop down when we're on the doorway and nicely grab his arms. "It's going to be okay. Your name is only there twice this year. You're not going to get picked."

"But what if you do?" he responds.

I lower my head and suddenly feel the same way. _What if I do get reaped?_That means I'd have to leave Techno behind. I can't do that! I can't leave him alone with our father, I can't. My father has never hurt or hit Techno, but that's because I'm around; I don't let him and I'm sure as hell not going to let him touch Techno any time soon.

"I'm not," I say, suddenly doubting my statement.

"We'll be back here after the Reaping. We'll come back and sleep all day," I add and smile. Techno smiles as well. "Let's go."

It doesn't take us long to reach all of the shining cameras pointing at us, televising us, probably nationwide. It's decorated with fancy accessories from, I assume, the Capitol. We sign in but Techno signed in before me, so the crowd of peacekeepers led him to one of the section of the boys. By the time I sign in, I take a glimpse of him but I don't get led next to him or nearby him. We're apart.

"Hello!" the lady with shiny red hair jumps in front of the microphone after our Mayor: Julius Shane gave us a speech about why the Capitol created the Hunger Games. The lady wears a purple puffy dress with black heels. Her name is Phoebe O'Malley. She's been our district escort for a couple of years; she's fairly young, probably in her mid-twenties or so. "Welcome! Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor."

She doesn't say anything after that but, "Ladies are always first!" And it's true. The girls have always been first and I can feel the tension building up in their crowd. I can see the fear in each of their eyes as Phoebe walks over to the glass ball with thousands of slips, takes one out after circling her hand around, and unfolds it to read the name, "Nitya Allardyce."

I look over at the large section of girls and see a small, pale, fragile little girl, probably Techno's age, stand there, moving slowly out of the crowd. I can't stand it when little kids get reaped, I just cannot stand it. I hold my breath when I suddenly hear a loud cry echo from behind our crowds. It is woman who yells out the girl's name repeatedly.

"Nitya!" she screeches, "Nitya!"

Two peacekeepers rush up to her and take her away to who knows where. Maybe that's the girl's mother or something. I don't know. Nitya walks over to the stage so slow and timidly that a pair of peacekeepers rush her up to the stage. I'm surprised, yet extremely upset when no one volunteers for her. Not one person speaks up or raises their hand. I know that if I was a female, I'd definitely volunteer for that hopeless girl. Her hair is exactly how my mother's hair was; light brown. Nitya wears bent glasses that distract me from all of the freckles she has on her pale face. Her skin is almost the same kind of pale Techno wears.

"It's time for the boys!" Phoebe shouts and reaches over to the boys' glass. I see her thin hand moving around the inside of the ball, making a circular path as she reaches deep into the slips and snatches one out. I feel goose bumps all over my body, I feel the chill going down my spine, and I can't seem to stand still. All I'm thinking about is Techno. He cannot be picked, he absolutely cannot. The odds are in his favor; he only has his name in there twice! My fingers meet the inside of my hand; my fingernails are digging through my skin tissue, feeling the blood tickling through. I hold my breath in when I hear Phoebe call out the male tribute for District 3…

"Sebastian Grande!" she blurts out and suddenly, I can't feel my legs. I feel like they're going to give up on me and let me collapse. _I wish they did_.

I walk over to the stage without any problems but on my way, I see the look on Techno's face when it makes me realize that Father is most likely going to beat him up. He's going to hurt him.

"Buddy," I mouth to him when a peacekeeper pushes me forward to the stage.

I look at the huge crowd of boys and girls but I can only see Techno now. I look at him for as long as I can before Phoebe rushes us into the Justice building.

It feels like the day I saw my mother for the last time. I didn't get to speak to her for long or even look at her for long. It's pretty much the same thing for me, because this is probably the last time I'll see Techno. They're letting us see our friends and family one last time for a small limited amount of time before we make our way to the Capitol. I wait for someone, anyone to come but nobody even knocks on the door, not one creak. I wait for Techno and pray and hope that he'll show up.

He doesn't.

When time is up, a peacekeeper barges into the room, and I suddenly jump and think it's Techno but I'm wrong when the peacekeeper says, "Follow the escort."

Techno never even came by. So it was true, when I was on the stage, it was the last time I saw him. That's the last time I probably ever will see him, because I know that I have no high chance of coming back alive. Techno would've come by before Nitya and I were escorted out of the building but he didn't. He didn't.

_It can only mean one thing…_

_Father._


	4. District 4

**District 4 female, Gemini Dock, 18, Estoma**

* * *

When I was younger, I remember asking if the ocean reflected the sky. My father explained that it was the other way around; the sky reflects the ocean's moods. Today, I know they must be feeling the same way because both are a steel grey. They're feeling grim. It isn't a surprise, because today is the reaping.

Now I wonder if the ocean and the sky reflect what the sailors are feeling. It could be a coincidence, but all the men on the little fishing boat, and all the children too, wear the same grim expression.

The wind is blowing strongly, threatening to whip my hair from its tight plait. If the wind and the oceans really were our friends, they wouldn't aid the little boat in its journey across the waves. It's taking us, all the children from the northern peninsula where I live, to the Capital city, Drift, for the reaping. Maybe the wind and the ocean do not know, because they've always been friends in the past. Even the icy currents that come down from further north are friends, because they bring the krill and the fish that in turn bring the seals to our home for us to hunt.

Usually, the boat carries loads of ocean fish; the net and the boom built onto the deck testify to that. In the right season, it ferries the crew and their heavy clubs close to the rocky islands off the peninsula where the seals rest. But now its cargo is nervous children. We don't cry though, not even the youngest of us. And if we do, the brisk wind will dry the tears off our faces.

Though the waves are only small, the boat still rocks. I keep my feet through years of practice. My oldest brother Dagon is at the tiller, looking anxiously at the motor.

"It won't give up yet," I smile. The Capitol refuses the money to replace anything until absolutely necessary. My father has been grumbling about needing a new motor for months, but we won't get one until our first breaks completely. Still, the boat is fitted with a sail just in case. I suppose we're lucky to have a motor at all; I heard that in District 11, they don't have trucks to drive the loads of produce; they have to rely on horses and manpower.

"We'd be in deep shit if it did today," Dagon replies.

"You and father would still get us there."

"Well, you've got to be there, Gem, you'll the star of the show."

"I don't know," I say quickly, "I'm still deciding. If someone who can handle themselves gets reaped, then I won't bother."

"Fingers crossed then," Dagon gives me a light shove on the shoulder. When Dagon was eighteen, the kid reaped was his age, and had been training too, so there wasn't much point volunteering. I'm not exactly sure which outcome he's hoping for. To tell the truth, I'm not sure myself. "Go check on Caspian, would you?"

My younger brother, Caspian, is sitting in the bow with a net draped over his lap. There is a thick needle in his hand and a spool of coarse thread. Might as well do something useful, since we can't cast the net today.

"You're right?" I ask him, moving the net aside so I can sit.

"Yeh, sure," he replies. "How far off are we?"

"Half an hour or so until Bombay." The proper name for the main bay at Drift is Bomb Bay, renamed after the rebels suffered a huge defeat there; the Capitol hovercraft rained bombs down on the rebel boats, mainly just fishing craft. The bottom of the bay is littered with debris that you can see on a clear day.

"Should be able to finish this then," Caspian says, adjusting the net on his lap.

"So, what are you thinking?"

"Uh, that this net has a lot of holes?" he quipped.

"No, I mean about the reaping." Like me, Caspian isn't set on volunteering, but he isn't against it either.

"Guess I'll see what happens, same as you?"

"You've still got another two reapings after this, so no hurry," I agree.

"That's what I though," he says. "So did you want to help me with the net?"

"I've got to talk to father first."

We call him Captain Dock, for a laugh. He does captain the ship, but it's owned by the Capitol, and the crew are made up of his family and half a dozen other men. The boat doesn't even have a proper name (the Capitol code, D41341, painted on the side has worn off) but Dagon and I jokingly painted one on. It's our mother's name; Lila.

"Captain," I say, standing before my father with my hand to my forehead in a salute.

"At ease," he says gruffly. His beard, streaked with salt, hides his smile. "You kids travelling alright then?"

"Sure, Captain," I nod. "We're not going to volunteer unless the kid reaped looks like they won't do the district credit."

"Good, good plan," he says. "Don't forget to think before you dive in. Test-"

"-the water, I know, Captain," I interrupt.

"Well, just you remember it."

"You know we're not like those idiots in 1 and 2 who volunteer just for the hell of it," I remind him.

"You're good kids," he says. I stumble when he pulls me in for a quick, one-armed hug; I'm not used to it. For a moment I turn my face against his jacket and smell the salt and the lingering smell of sealskin. Then he gives me a gentle shove back towards the prow. "Help your brother with that net, Gem."

The square is already crowded by the time we get there. We leave the boat all in a huddle, pushing through the crowds to get to the desks and sign in. Fighting through the square, we come quite suddenly on a clear space where two men are scrapping.

I throw out my arm to stop Caspian when I see who they are. Our victors. Leo is the victor of the first games. Whatever happens after, no district can take that away from us; we won the first time. He's got fiery red hair and freckles, and to look at him you wouldn't think he's a victor. It's true that he wasn't the strongest competitor; he was just the one who worked out the rules fastest.

Shar is the other. He won three years ago. I'm especially proud of Shar, because he comes from the peninsula, like I do. Of course, he doesn't live there anymore. Both of them right now though, are acting like little boys. If they weren't victors, someone would have thrown a bucket of seawater over the pair of them.

"Not again," Dagon calls. He's caught up, after helping to dock the boat. He and Shar are the same age, and they still remember each other.

At the sound of his voice, Shar gives his smaller opponent one more shove and then straightens, brushing off his shirt. It's a lost cause though; there are sand and wrinkles all over the fabric. Both victors stand up and both are smiling.

"Just trying to decide who gets to mentor the girl this year," Shar laughs.

"Fine, you win," Leo concedes.

"You're hopeless," Dagon states matter of factly, shaking his head. His beard, the same as father's, hides his smile. He puts his hands on my shoulder and Caspian's. "Do you remember my brother and sister?"

"Gem and Caspian!" Shar booms. "Sure, I remember when you used to swim naked, Gem; you looked like a little white seal pup."

I blush, but try to cover it up by squaring my shoulders. My hands reach automatically for my plait and I twist it around my fingers and give it a good tug. "Well you looked like a big, fat walrus!" I retort. It's the best I can come up with at the time.

"A walrus hey?" Shar raises his eyebrows, "I'm a shark."

He lunges for me, trying to pull me down onto the sandy cobblestones with him but I step back in time and his hands only graze the waistband of my skirt. And then it's time to leave.

With the other eighteen year olds, I wait through the mayor's speech and then watch our escort mount the stage. Nobody actually uses his real name; we all just call him Merman. Partly because his hair is long to his waist and threaded with artificial looking seaweed that glitters when he moves his head, and partly because of his tail. The back of the suit he wears each year tapers into a bight green fish tail.

Merman speaks in a pleasing tenor, though that might be the best thing about him. The girls around me jostle while he makes his welcoming speech, but we all still when he walks to the reaping bowl. The wind is so fierce in the square that they have to put a lid on it, else the slips would escape.

Merman lifts the lid and sashays back to the microphone before opening it. I wrinkle my nose as I do each time; he walks like a woman, except he has no hips to swing.

"Sara Keel!" he calls over the crowd.

The wind whistles around the square and the sound of the waves can easily be heard in the quiet. At first, no tribute emerges, but a murmuring from behind me catches my attention and I see the girls move back to make a clear space around Sara. She hasn't moved yet.

I bite my lip and give my hair a tug that jerks my head around. It's something I can't help when I'm angry. The girl must be the daughter of one of the few businessmen in town, because she's plump and her face doesn't have the same tan as most others in the District. She spends her time inside.

"I volunteer!" For a moment, when the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back. I even raise my hand towards my lips, but the words are gone. Now, everyone is looking at me, and it's me they're waiting for. Looks like I made my decision.

From the stage, I have an excellent view over the crowd, and down towards the docks. I can see _Lila_ moored right down he northern end of the docks. In the other direction, there is a pale expanse of beach, stretching out of sight.

The boys' reaping moves faster. I have only a moment to hope that Caspian isn't reaped before the name is pulled. I barely hear it, because there is a volunteer in moments. He strides forward confidently, and when I see his swagger, my hands unconsciously tighten into fists.

"Kai Brooke," he introduces himself as before it is asked of him, taking the microphone from the escort's hands. When we shake hands, his grip is firm. He strokes the inside of my wrist with his other hand and I pull away.

"No thanks," I mutter, trying to keep a smile on my face.

The Justice Building must be the only one in the whole District that doesn't have sand in it. All the others tend to collect sand and it never all gets swept out. Here though, the stone floor is cold and clean and smooth under my feet. I'm used to the floor feeling gritty.

When the door opens for my first visitors, I'm running my feet along the smooth floor, shoes off, just to enjoy the feeling. My father and brothers enter together, and I can't help but think they look so alike. Caspian is nearly as tall as our father already, and he's showing signs of a fine coppery beard too.

"Looks like you decided to volunteer," my father states. He doesn't sit, but my brothers do, on either side of my on the couch.

"Sorry, Captain," I say.

"Well, the anchor's cut, we've got to make the best of this, don't we."

"Yes, Captain."

We're not a very emotional family. My fifteen minutes passes without many words exchanged, but it's good to feel my brothers on the couch next to me. Once I ask them to say goodbye to mother for me, just in case, there isn't really much else to say. Caspian starts telling a funny story about a seal pup that nearly got away from him, but he cuts off halfway through when he remembers the story ends with him splattering the little creature's brains across the rocks. We sit in silence after that.

My first thought about the train is that it is nothing like a boat. I can barely feel the movement under my feet, and it makes me stumble. Shar moves to grab my arm and steady me, but I lean against the wall instead.

"Looks like I'm in luck," he grins and turns to Leo, "bet you wish you got to mentor Gem!"

"Can we trade?" I ask quickly. Leo winks at me sympathetically.

"Come on, time for a private session," Shar grins. I manage to duck past him into the body of the train, laughing. I hope by the time he catches up that I can think of a better insult than a walrus.

* * *

**District 4 male, Kai Brooke, 18, BecauseofKillianJones**

* * *

When I was younger, my father used to tell me and my sister that there were two kinds of people: The ones that were born with that sea on their blood and the ones who didn't. Since I was a little boy, I always loved the Sea, sometimes at night I used to sneak out of our house in Victor's Village and came here just to watch the sea. So, on my 18th birthday my father gifted me with his ship, _The Lady Brooke_.

I had woken up early today to sail for a bit. Today is reaping day, not that I was nervous but sailing always gives me time to think. The sun shone brightly in the sky, illuminating the sails of the _The Lady Brooke_. As soon as I get out of the ship, Milah launches herself into my arms and our lips meld together in a searing kiss.

"I've missed you," she whispers, leaning in to kiss me again.

It isn't until her arms go around my middle that she notices me flinch and hiss in pain. "Another of your training injuries, Kai ?" Milah frowns, pulling away and laying a tender hand on my chest.

"'Tis nothing, love," I smile warmly at her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "But you're more than welcome to patch me up if you'd like." I cock a suggestive eyebrow her way.

"Pirate," she chuckles.

"Aye, but yours and yours alone," I whispers, snaking my arms around her and nuzzling into her neck.

Milah runs her hands through my hair and sighs contently, "Just as I am yours."

"We should go training before the reaping" I say kissing her forehead.

"Yes. If you're going to volunteer, I want to make sure you come home, love," Milah says with a worried look on her face.

"Do you have any doubts?" I say, kissing her deeply. She joins our hands together and we walk to the Academy.

On normal days the Academy would be full of kids training for the The Games. Today only Milah, Emma, Bae and I were there. It's the biggest Training Academy, though there are smallers ones too, like up on the peninsula. As soon as we got there Milah goes to the knife throwing station and I went to the sword station. That is one of the reasons that I fell in love with her, she is as deadly as I am with swords, but only with Throwing Knifes.

I pick up a sword and I slice through dummy after dummy, tearing each one to shreds, my sword acting like the teeth of a wolf that has not eaten in days. I'm a kind person, but on the battlefield I think of nothing but the attack. After, the dummies are nothing but pieces of cloth and metal. That's what's going to happen to the tributes when I'm finished with them.

"Good job, Kai. I can tell we are not going to regret having you as this year's volunteer," My trainer, Tide Marron says.

"Of course you're not. I'm going to be District 4's third victor. Just watch me," I say, wiping the sweat out of my face.

"Confident, charming, deadly and cocky. That's exactly what we need in a victor. I'm counting on you, Kai. Now go home and get ready for the reaping," Tide says shaking my hand.

"Of course, sir. Thank you for everything," I say and walk out of the Academy.

My house, one of the biggest houses in District 4 after Victor's Village, is full of sand. When I enter my home, I see my sister Lilac and my mother Molly on the couch, probably waiting for me.

"Hi son," my mother says and kisses me on the cheek. "Oh Kai, you were training again?"

"I was mother. Every minute will be worth it when I come a victor. I'm going to take a shower and head for the reaping." I clim the stairs and head for the bathroom.

I quickly take a shower and put on some nice clothes; a blue v-neck t-shirt, white shorts and sneakers. When I head downstairs I realize that my mother and sister must be already at the reaping.

As soon as I get to the Square, I take my place next to the other eighteen years old. As I wait through the mayor's speech I look to the seventeen years old girl section and I find Milah's eyes. I smile and she blows me a kiss which I know means good luck.

I watch our escort mount the stage. No one in the District knows his real name; we all just call him Merman. Partly because of his ridiculous looks. I hear some girls jostle while he makes his speech, but we are all still when he walks to the girl's reaping bowl. Well, time to see who my partner will be.

"Sara Keel!" he calls.

At first no tribute moves and then I see the girls making a clear space around Sara. Then I hold back a laugh when I see her. Sara must be the daughter of one of the few businessmen in town, probably my father knows her, because she's plump and her face doesn't have the same tan as most others, she clearly doesn't spend her time outside and training like the rest of us.

I almost smile, this is too easy. I can kill her in the Bloodbath but that second, a girl volunteers. An average girl with dark blonde hair introduces herself as Gemini Dock. Still, I can see by her muscled arms and calves that she's been training too. Merman walks to the boys' reaping ball but before he can start saying the name of the male tribute the words leave my mouth :

"I Volunteer!" I walk to the stage confidently.

"Well, hello there Gemini m'lady," I say as I kiss her tan hand. Then I loop an arm through Gemini's and seize the microphone.

"Hello, District 4! My name is Kai Brooke, and I think this year we're going to have another Victor!" I wink at the crowd. People cheer at that, mainly females who must find my muscular build and black hair attractive, not to mention my sea-blue eyes. When we shake hands my grip is firm. I stroke the inside of her wrist with my other hand when she pulls away.

"No thanks," she mutters, trying to keep a smile on her face.

The Justice Building is quite nice and the only place in District 4 that isn't full of sand. When the door opens for my first visitors Milah lauched herself into my arms.

"Milah—" her name flows from my lips and it sounds like home. I want it to be home, it used to be home.

"Shut up and kiss me, Captain Brooke."

My lips are urgently upon hers, teeth nipping her lower lip and shortly after my caressing hers in a sensual battle. Her hands fist my hair and I groan, picking her up and kicking the door shut behind us.

"How long?" I pant between kisses down her neck, "how long do you have?" I dipped her down onto the couch and hovered over her, fingers brushing down her cheeks.

"They gave me five minutes," Milah says, a tear sliding out and rolling off her face.

I brush it away with my thumb, my own sad expression mirroring hers. I bent down and press a soft kiss on her lips.

"I love you, please tell me you know that. I…I never got to say…" I turn my head away, my mouth forming a tight line.

Milah takes my face in her hands and draws it back down. "Of course I know, how can I not?" She pulls me down to meet her lips, "And I love you, my sweet, sweet, Captain." Before I can do anything else, Milah pulls something out of her pccket and places it in my hand.

"I want you to take it. It will remind you of me and home," Milah says, revealing a necklace with a shell.

"Thank you, love," I say and before I can kiss her one more time a Peacekeeper takes her away.

The next visitors are my mother, father and sister. My father pats me on the back.

"Looks like you decided to volunteer after all, good job son," he says.

My mother hugs me tight. "I love you, Kai. Be careful in there," she says.

"I love you too, mother. I will." Then I hug her and my sister tight. My fifteen minutes passes quickly.

My first impression of the train is that it's nothing like the ground full of sand from District 4.

"Looks like I'm in luck," Shar grins and turns to Leo, "bet you wish you got to mentor Gem!" That upsets me. What the hell does Gem has that I don't? They must know each other. That's it.

"Can we trade?" Gemini asks quickly. Leo winks at her sympathetically.

"Come on, time for a private session," Shar grins. I sight and sit on the couch. I really can't wait to get yo the arena. In there they are going to see who the real Kai Brooke is.


	5. District 5

**Grace Winters, 17 - District 5 female**

**MignightSnowSapphire**

* * *

The backs of my eyelids burn red from the sunlight streaming in through the window. I cover my eyes with the heels of my palms as I sit up. I think it's mocking that the sun decides to shine so brightly today, a contrast to the usual gray, polluted sky. As if it's trying to compensate for the gloom that settles over the district on this day.

I crawl out of bed slowly. Leisurely. I look over to my sister's bed, knowing she won't be there. It's become a sort of odd tradition on this day. My sister, who normally sleeps in as late as Mother allows her, will get up as early as possible; as if missing one minute of this day will come down on her later, when she is in danger of losing those precious minutes.

On the contrary, my body decides to keep me in blissful unconsciousness for as long as possible. Every year. I wish it wouldn't, for I don't want to lose the time I have with my family to sleep, but I can't control it. My sister is always up hours before I am, dressed and ready to leave long before she needs to.

Walking to the bathroom, I close the door behind me and brace my hands on the edges of the sink. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My pale skin, my limp blonde hair, my pursed lips, the dimness in my green eyes...

Reaping day.

I splash water over my face, feeling the cool drops running down my neck and soaking into my nightshirt. I run my wet hands through my hair before deciding to take a bath. My father had managed to build a water heater out of some scrap metal parts from the power plant, so we can take hot baths. A luxury that did not go unappreciated. I run the water into the tub while I strip off my clothes, and then submerge my naked body into the steaming water.

It's almost scalding, but I don't care. I scrub unusually hard at my skin, trying to wash away the feeling of hopelessness I feel every morning on this day.

Standing up, I step out of the tub and onto the floor. I pull the plug to drain the water before I grab a small towel from the back of the toilet. It's not big enough to wrap my body with, but it's enough so I can pat myself dry. I creep back into my and my sister's bedroom, stark naked. I throw on my under garments before looking for my reaping dress. My mother bought me a new one last week because my old one no longer fit. Bailey got it handed down to her because now it fits my younger sister better.

My dress is emerald green, accentuating my eyes. I remember my mother looked at me with her eyes shining as she told me how beautiful I looked in it. I smiled back at her, both of us ignoring the reason we were buying it for.

The buttons on my dress are all done up by the time my hair is dry. I run my fingers through my blonde locks to make it look neat. You have to look nice on Reaping day. Otherwise, you might seem like you don't want to be there. And no one wants that, right?

When I enter the kitchen, I see everyone seated at the table. No one comments on my late start as I sit down. We have a routine by now. Mother and Father are picking at their food, only eating small bites every now and then. Bailey is being overly casual; trying to act like it's any other day, as if pretending like neither of our lives could change today will make it so. She's eating her food steadily, and in big bites. I try and copy her, filling my hollow stomach with food I don't taste.

Things have been better for us ever since I took up a job at the power plant that my father works at. I get assigned different jobs, separate from him because of my being only seventeen. But I don't mind. The extra income for our family has helped put better quality food on our table. Still, I cannot bring myself to savor the taste of it on this day.

I clear my throat after a while. "I'm going to meet up with Isabelle and Kate this morning. Before." I don't really say it as a question, but my mother knows I'm asking permission.

"Ok, Grace," she addresses me, nodding. I mumble a quiet thank you before standing to place my plate in the sink. It still has half of my food left on it, but I can't eat anymore since I've lost the sense of morning hunger. Our parents usually give Bailey and me freedom to do what we want on Reaping day, since we all know that that freedom could be stripped away at the slip of a paper.

After breakfast, we wait. With our dishes put away, we sit around the table and hold hands, our arms making a loose circle. We're not speaking, or crying. Not yet. We're just...being. Being with each other, before the nightmare can begin. Waiting. Our heads are hung and our eyes closed, afraid to do anything more and disturb the brief moment of peace. If an outsider were to see us, we might look as if we are praying.

But who could we pray to? I vaguely remember a lesson about religion in school. It was only taught once and in brevity, for why would we need to know too much about that when it has nothing to do with power and electricity? The teachers mentioned an almighty being to whom ancient people would pray to because he was responsible for everything we are and everything we do. If this being allows such hell to be practiced among "his people" - children offered and sacrificed, the corrupted applauding and encouraging, people starving and dying - then he is no god that I am willing to pray to.

We hold one another's hands so tightly. My right hand holds my mother's, and my left is latched onto by my sister. My father sits across from me. We're waiting. Waiting. Waiting...

In a split second, there is a loud siren taking up the air that we breathe, and now we cannot breathe. Our eyes snap open and we release each other from the circle, standing together and heading out the door.

When we walk through the streets, everyone is moving in the same direction, at the same pace, with the same destination. Once my family and I arrive at the main square where the reaping will take place, Mother and Father turn to Bailey and me. They hug us fiercely and, for a moment, I allow myself to feel as if I am once again a child and there is no safer place than in my mother's arms... before I pull away from them and face reality again.

Our parents leave to stand with the other distraught adults, and Bailey and I file into the line for signing in. The line moves quickly, and we are only half a dozen feet away from the table when we turn to each other simultaneously and cling to each other.

"We'll be okay, we'll be okay," Bailey mumbles. Since I am taller than her, she is grasping my waist while I'm holding her shoulders.

"Isn't that my line?" I tease weakly. Her body gives a shake, and I can hear her faintly chuckling. I pull away and wink at her, right before she goes to the table. They take her attendance and she leaves to stand with the other 14-year-olds. After my slips are admitted, I start looking for Isabelle and Kate.

They are standing together off to the side, not making any move to stand in our section until they find me. I shuffle over to them.

"Grace," Isabelle murmurs, hugging me. Kate wraps her arms around the both of us, so it's just the three of us. Three best friends.

We all pull away and smile at each other. They're not happy smiles, exactly. But just happy we are together, not a single one of us alone. We all hold hands and start walking. I am in the middle with Isabelle to my right and Kate to my left. We always stay together, and we always make it through. Together.

When we three are all in the roped off section for the seventeen-year-olds, we scoot even closer together until our sides are bumping, and we bring our linked hands up to shoulder height. For luck.

Peacekeepers line the stairway as a man in a dark suit with red detailing walks onto the stage. His name is Clarence Thomas, District 5's escort for our tributes. He's not like the other escorts, who seem so bubbly and ridiculous. He has a mischievous air about him, like he always has an ulterior motive for everything he does. Without preamble, he plays the Capital video about how terrible war is. I've been eligible for reaping for six years. After my first two, I've learned to tune out the droning recording voice. I don't even watch the screen anymore.

Which is why I don't realize right away that the video is over and Clarence Thomas is about to choose 5's tributes. Our sacrifices. I snap back to attention as soon as he says "Ladies first!" in an unusually malicious voice as he walks to the clear bowl containing our lives. My hands are holding onto my friends' so tight. Pleading silently to a god that I don't believe in, to please not choose Bailey. Not Isabelle. Not Kate...

It's not them. It's-

"Grace Winters!"

My jaw drops as Isabelle gasps and Kate cries out.

I don't move. I can't. I'm frozen. Not frozen - still. I'm cold, because I'm dead. Clarence Thomas just killed me.

My hands peel themselves off of Isabelle and Kate. My feet drag themselves out of the crowd. A crowd that has relaxed and yet has tensed up even more. They are safe, but one of their own has just been taken.

The Peacekeepers see me to the stage as I climb up the staircase. I am directed to stand on one side of my escort as he rummages his hand in the bowl for the boys.

I don't understand. I have parents who love me. I have a sister who needs me. One who, as I find her face in the crowd, stares at me with a face of pure agony. She has tears flooding her cheeks and her mouth open in a silent scream. I have no time to convey some sense of consolation to her before the name of our boy tribute is called out.

"Gregory Tryst!" I don't recognize the name, nor the boy as I see him make his way out of the crowd. He doesn't make it very far before losing whatever nerve he briefly summoned and makes a run for it. I pity him almost as much as I pity myself when I see the Peacekeepers drag him back to the stage. They are almost to the steps when a voice rings out:

"I volunteer as tribute!" This voice, I recognize. And my heart clenches when I see my friend, Jake Noir, head toward the stage while Gregory Tryst scrambles away.

I know Jake because he also works in the power plant, even though he is only twelve years old. Because we are both minors, we often have jobs that interact with each other. He's become like a little brother to me. This is his first Reaping, how could he volunteer?

I'm upset with him as he tells Clarence his name. I shake hands with Jake before we are herded into the justice building and into separate rooms where our final goodbyes shall take place.

It's not long before the door swings open and my sister tackles me, nearly knocking us both over.

"They can't take you! They can't!" she cries pitifully. We both know that they very well can, but she protests anyway. Just like she said before the Reaping that we would be okay, even though we both knew the possibility that we wouldn't be. Bailey, disregarding the fact that she is fourteen, clings to me like a child as she sobs. My own tears escape my eyes as I squeeze her in return.

My parents are more composed than my sister, but not by much. Mother's face is crumpled with pain as she tries to keep her tears at bay. Father, on the other hand, has a neutral face that betrays nothing, but his eyes gleam and his hands are in tight fists. They both come over and wrap their arms around my sister and me. Once again, it's just us. Shutting the world out. Except this time we're not fearing for our lives to change, we're waiting for mine to end.

"Don't betray fear," Father says to me, speaking for the first time. He pulls back so I can see his face. "You don't want them to think you're weak. You are far from it, Grace. Do you hear me?" His face is no longer collected, but contorted with emotion. He stands and turns away for a moment as my mother faces me.

"They'll love you, Grace," she breathes, staring at me with love and pride. "Show them how beautiful you are."

My sister looks like she suddenly thought of something. She messes with her hands for a moment before opening my palm and dropping a small item onto it. It's her ring, the one our mother gave to her on her first Reaping. She hasn't taken it off since that day two years ago, when she was spared from the Games. "Don't let them count you out, okay?" Bailey demands.

"Okay, I'll try," I whisper, unable to talk any louder for fear that my voice will crack. "I love you," I say to the three of them, and they all murmur it back to me a moment before the Peacekeepers open the door and shuffle them away. I hear my father break down before the door closes.

Minutes later the door produces my two best friends. Isabelle and Kate rush to me and envelop me at the same time. Our goodbyes are quieter than the one I had with my family. But just as heartbreaking. Our tears fall together and they mumble sweet nothings to me. They'll miss me. They'll cheer for me. They'll see me when I get back.

I am sure that Jake would have come and said goodbye if he wasn't accompanying me to the Capitol. Just as I would have gone to him had he been reaped and I not. But the circumstances are what they are. And after my friends are dragged away, I, too, am taken from the tear-stained room and led to the train alongside Clarence Thomas and Jake Noir.

Inside the train is a disgustingly glorious décor. The table is overflowing with exquisite food that I never knew could even exist. And still, I can't bring myself to eat even if I tried. Jake is sitting next to me and he waves awkwardly, even though we are only a few feet apart. I wave back shyly, even though this boy is like a younger brother to me. There is a shift between us now, because soon, we'll be pitted against each other. And we know that we both can't go home.

I don't stay in the food car for very long. I need to be alone or I'll lose it. I slink off to my room, leaving Jake and Clarence to each other. I shut the door once I'm inside, and just like that I'm alone. I fling myself onto the bed, slam a pillow over my face, and scream as loud as my body allows.

When I remove the pillow from my face, I'm breathing hard. I have to try, dammit. I can't just give up. I can't count myself out. How could I do that to my sister?

I turn on my side and look at the ring Bailey gave me as my token. It's a twisted silver band with a light blue stone embedded in it. With little engraved details on it, it's made to resemble electricity powering a light bulb. I twirl it around my finger anxiously. Repetitively.

* * *

**Jake Noir, 12 - District 5 male**

**BlackEyes13**

* * *

I wake up today at dawn, the power plants have to be operated 24-7 and I'm at least lucky enough to get the morning shift, of course I still have to work at the machine shop to pay off the bills for my Grandparents' medicine If I want them to be alive long enough for me to turn 18. Luckily they have long enough in this world to last me, if I was a minor unprotected, I would be sent to the orphanage and be forced to stop my extra curricular job and simply work for the power plants and keep doing mindless chores throughout my day, I swear to myself that I won't live that life. Never.

But I keep at it, I apply myself to my work and make sure that I don't miss work, because if I do, I won't get paid the measly minimum wage they pay us at the plant. But I still love working at the machine shop, being around the cars and broken down things gave me motivation, and the tools that I know how to use by heart keep me calm and sane after a long day of grueling work at the plant.

Sure, things are rough, the plant is a dangerous place of fire and electricity that you have to avoid on a daily basis, I have seen plenty die, some destroyed, some electrocuted, some burned to death, even with the standard gloves that are fireproof and rubber to avoid burns and electrocutions from power plant work on our hands. But I have a special weapon up my sleeve, high tech goggles from District 3 that are made to see heat temperature and electromagnetic fields to see if there is a faulty wire somewhere, it saves my life more than once.

So, I get up and put on my overalls and gloves, then my goggles. I take a look around, my room is neatly organized from my case of OCD that i face, no clothes lying around, no papers spread across the room, it's regularly clean and so droll that I never like staying here long, but Peacekeepers make it mandatory that I keep it this way, so I leave, my grandparents, I'm sure, are still sleeping.

Apparently the reaping is bigger than I thought. The first reaping is a deadly day for many citizens here in humble District 5, but I hold my breath as I get entrance examinations and step into the courtyard surrounded by wires and old apartment buildings, it was once an old market place before everything spoiled, now it's just a main square for celebrations or special events that are held by the Capitol.

I'm kind of excited as I stand with my fellow twelve year olds in the male section, all terrified.

I lookup at the sky, they say it used to have water coming out of it, called rain, there is no wealth here in District 5, only gloomy skies that don't give an ounce of liquid, sometimes people see some fog, but that's it, the land is unforgiving and gives nothing from the earth, that's why they put the plants here I guess, it's meaningless land that had no use, so they make it a base of operations for something that pollutes the land to generate power.

A man in a black suit and pants with a red lapel and vest comes up on the stage, he has Capitol written all over him, I know because I look at his hands, no burns or scratches, not even a chipped nail, he may have even gotten a pedicure once in his life, and has probably never worked an honest day in his life. But he doesn't bother with any artificial words about how he loves this District or how he says Happy Hunger Games, no, he just turns on the video they show people ever year, then he receives the bowls for the names and finally he speaks to break the tension.

"Ladies first." He says, He pulls out a girls name and reads it clearly.

"Grace Winters." He says, with gusto in his voice.

I hear her name and feel my heart drop, she is my friend, we both work at the power plant together, we're like siblings, she is close to me in many ways, but now she is just another face I will see in our candle light vigils we hold every year, she will be the thirteenth to be lost. And now, sadly, we shall select the fourteenth.

He then puts his hand in the bowl again and looks at us with a smile, I swear he is looking at me when he says,

"Gregory Tryst." He says and the crowds go silent.

Gregory gets up, he looks shocked as everyone looks at him with pity, he just stares back in fear, after that...he runs.

The Peacekeepers go after him, they catch him quickly enough, he never stops struggling as they practically drag him towards the stage.

I can't have this, he's going to represent the District I live in, he a coward, a fool for running when he just should have accepted fate and went on with his life doomed to die fighting in the arena. He should have been more brave, and he is a fool, other Districts are watching, if they see him...the other tributes will kill him like a mouse. If I was in his shoes...

A lightbulb goes off in my head, without thinking about the consequences, without thinking about grandpa and grandma, who will miss me, how my friends will miss me, I've decided to take a chance, to prove that District 5 was Hunger Games material.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I announce with gusto in my voice.

The reaped tribute looks at me, I look at him and he praises his luck and thanks me dearly with his eyes as the Peacekeepers let him go and he sprawls back to his seat, sweating and crying a little.

The man stares at me as if he's been waiting for me to volunteer all day. I walk up to the stage, he smiles at the crowd and he announces maliciously.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you our District 5 tributes!" He says, he seems like a crowd pleaser, unfortunately, maybe I will never get to see him again.

I think about my life a bit, I think about it a lot in fact as I wait at the Justice Building for my loved ones to come and console me, and after that I would be off to the Capitol.

I take off my overalls because I know that I won't need them where I'm going. But I still wear my goggles proudly around my neck, I don't care whether I'm at the plant or dressed nicely in a funeral casket, the goggles never come off, they were prescription originally that let me see, but I tweaked them to do all the things they do now. And I also keep my gloves, I need them in my games if I'm going to be building with hot material or something along those lines.

In celebration, the Justice Building is decorated at its best, it's decorated in what looks like red wires and metal columns, of course the District 5 touch for celebration that we are given at times. I think about my grandparents as they come up the buildings steep stone steps and walk to my room that I'm put in after the reaping. They're so depressed, I know they're crushed, but they keep their heads up throughout the entire goodbye session we have.

"You're father was just the same as you, he wouldn't have stood by either and let that boy be tribute, you have brought a great honor to our district and our cause my boy." My grandfather says with pride in his voice, masking his sorrow.

He gives me a hug as I return the favor.

I think about the riot that killed my parents, it was awful, the only place that was safe was for one person, I was so young I barely remembered, but I still see their faces as they were gunned down in the rioting crowd we were caught up in.

My grandmother walks towards me, she's as burned as me, she used to work maintenance like me, grandfather works as an electrician so he never gets burned really. But my grandmother is proud of me and my choices, she loves me for having her personality.

"Don't leave them alive if they try and kill you. Take them with you, and I promise my grandson, if I hadn't been a mother at sixteen, I gladly would've taken your place this instant when I was Reaping age." She says, she hugs me as I see some tears come out of her eyes.

Then my friends come to me as my family steps aside, they smile, all three of them.

The twins come first.

Gregory and Julian are similar down to the last microfiber of their bodies, they both have the same curly brown hair and green eyes, even the same smile that greeted my doubt of living with comfort. They wear the same work clothes and gloves and crossed their arms.

"You're crazy, so we'll be watching the whole time." Julian says.

"And please, for all of District 5, make it to the top five!" Gregory comments.

Nadia comes first, she punches my shoulder and shakes her head and sighs. She's always the tomboyish one of our group and is my best friend.

She has straight black hair she ties in a bun, and like all of us, had overalls and rubber boots along with our special gloves, she has a strong face that accompanies her strong complex of personality.

"Let's see if you stay alive wires for brains." She says jokingly, she hugs me.

She then looks at me an bites her lip, she looks at me with some longing, the same longing I sometime see in her eyes when we are at the car shop together as the sun sets and we look together at its beauty.

Funny how much of a goofball I am of not noticing telltale signs, and I know it seems that I'm young and all, but still...

She kisses me as she hugs me, I hug her back and realize that now I'm selfish, she always had a crush on me, but never had the chance, or the guts, to do show it.

I'm an idiot as well...did I mention that?

I look at her as our lips part, I simply smile as she hugged me tight and cried.

I see them all as I'm about to board the train.

Nadia kisses my cheek and hugs me one last time as I grab her shoulder.

"I'll come back. And we'll have a big house to all live in too." I say.

Peacekeepers come up to me and nod, I grab my things and walk towards the train, I might not come back was a thing that I accept, it's a challenge after all. And I know I felt five sets of eyes looking at me proudly as I board the train with a smile.

And May the Odds be ever in your favor.

As I ride the train I see my fellow tribute sit next to me and I wave, she waves back and we don't really say anything to each other, now is not the time of all times to make friends if you're going where Im going.

She doesn't really bother with me, she just decides to excuse herself and she goes out of the dining car, probably to her room. She feels the same about the whole 'friends' thing.

Then Clarence Thomas, my escort, walks up to me as I eat gluttonous, my food, spaghetti and meatballs with sauce. I then reach for my napkin and the split second before he raises a knife and stabs where my hand was, I move my hand quickly.

I look up.

"Are you crazy? You nearly stabbed my hand!" I say angry.

"You wouldn't stop eating your food." He says with a frown.

He has dark skin and blue quick flashing eyes, he wears a dark black suit with a red vest but no tie and has a devilish grin like he always wears, I figure that now since District five never won any other year, we have no victors, so my escort will train me.

"Well, when you come from a place that only gives you rice for food as a standard if you work, you tend to get hungry and I don't pass up a chance to eat now!" I say, He laughs, then pulls the knife out of the table.

"It's good to see you have a positive attitude, a twelve year old volunteer in District 5, your just about one of the rarest tributes I've ever seen in my Days of Escorting." he said.

"You're my new mentor?" I ask, with doubt at his training skills.

"Yes, now, for some advise, the sole thing that all tributes your age need to learn, and there are few other twelve year olds, is that you use our small size to your advantage, keep hidden, use traps and a full on approach is useless, if you have an alliance stick by them, and avoid Careers at all costs, to use the same tactics is great in the arena." He says, sitting down.

"Sure, but they'll never think of me as Hunger Games Material." I say, starting to rethink my options, but I realize its a little late for that.

"Stop moping, and another thing, use that they think you're weak to your own advantage, a boy from seven did, and now he's probably having the same chat with his tributes.." He says, clearly.

"I suppose, but I hope you're right, it's my life after all." I say, getting him back, I realize now I'm a smart ass.

"Calm down, I've done this before." he says, trying to calm me with his hand waving away my doubt magically.

"And it worked how many times? That's right, zero." I comment, now a little mad.

"If you don't want my help, fine, go mope around in your cabin, there's new clothes anyway." he says,

I get up and walk to my room, I'm a little angry at it all though, I mean, I know what I have gotten myself into, just didn't know what I'm going to do about it all. I need space, and fast.

I reach my cabin and find new clothes on the bed, a black leather jacket and white long sleeved shirt with dark blue jeans. This is Capitol fashion, I suppose I have to follow it then.

And so begins my days in the Hunger Games, I'm either goIng to win, or at least place in the final five, I want to bring honor to my District, or die trying, then again, they can arrange that, a smile comes to my face as I grab the clothes from my bed.


	6. District 6

**Aran Haydes, 15 - District 6 female**

**Stella Hawk **

* * *

Great. My sister Kiva forgot to close the blinds. _Again._ I groan, as I remember the day ahead of me. The reaping day.

I signed up for tesserae as soon as I turned twelve, to support my family, and to stop my sister from signing up at all costs.

Kiva now has probably gone to sleep with our mother. She's scarred, as usual.

"Morning, Aran!" Kiva yawns sleepily, then suddenly snap her eyes open. Right, she has remembered. Sometimes she's too much of a crybaby. I know I can't say that about my sister, but I can't help it if I'm right.

It's Kiva's second year. And with my help she only has two slips into the reaping bowl, she should be happy. While I have twelve slips. The odds of my name being reaped are still silly.

This is a big district. There are families, that have it worse. Those who have both parents and more than three siblings. And are older, of course. I am only fifteen.

So Kiva runs over, and hugs me while tears cascades down her cheeks. Well, if she's acting like this now, then I can't even imagine what would be her reaction if… I don't even want to think about it.

I let her go and pick up my clothes. The reaping clothing, the best one we have.

While I'm still looking for my blouse I have a feeling I'm being watched, so I turn around to see my mother standing behind me. She hugs me too, then says, "I am so sorry sweety. Everything will be okay. You won't be reaped. Neither will Kiva. Okay?"

I don't answer, just nod.

I think I could call my self happy. I don't cry as often as my mother and sister. And neither did my father. So I guess that is, or was, our thing in common.

We both, Kiva and I, get ready and eat some tesserea gruel for breakfast. It's as tasteless as always. But it's also one of the only things we can actually get.

When we are done Kiva and I head to the Justice Building where the reaping ceremony is being held. The sign up lines aren't as long as I expected them to be. We are here pretty early, so we are one of the first ones here.

The Peacekeepers take some blood from our index fingers. It stings a bit, but it's how they keep tabs of people in the districts. At least children ages from 12 to 18.

Another Peacekeeper leads me to my age section. Separating me from my sister Kiva. She's probably terrified as always, but she has her friends there. And I have mine here.

"Hey, Aran!" My best friend Evie greets me. She, just like me, has blond hair and tan skin. She has grey eyes, but I have green. She is also few inches taller than me. I am rather short for my age, I think.

"Hey, Evie." I hug her with one arm. This is rather awkward, the only time we hug is the reaping day.

Suddenly I feel something on my shoulder. Something wet. "Are you crying, Evie?"

"No... yeah. I am. I.. I just don't wanna be reaped and die. I have so many slips in there... I.. I can't.." She stutters between small sobs.

I pull away from her hug and put my hands on her shoulders and look into her eyes. "Shh.. shh. You won't be reaped. If you will I promise to volunteer. We look out for each other, right?"

"Yeah, we do, I guess."

"See. Everything will be alright."

A sound coming from the stage catches our attention. "Hello, my District!" Our mayor starts the speech about the Dark days. It's always the same.

After that the mayor introduces us with the escort, Clover Prinkle. He's a tall man with clover colored suit and periwinkle hair. "Well, another exciting Hunger Games are about to begin, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" He almost skips to the girls reaping bowl. "Ladies first!"

"Aran Haydes!" Clover announces with disgusting joy. Huh, good luck our new tribute!

"It's you, Aran." Evie whispers in my ear.

What? And then I see it. Other fifteen year old girls making a path way for me.

"NO! No, no, no!" I shriek in a high pitched voice. A peacekeeper comes and throws me over his shoulder to carry me to the stage.

And still, not a single tear has left my eyes. The peacekeeper puts me down before the stairs that lead to the stage. I grab the handle and let it go at the same second, as the sun has heated it.

"Now, for the boys." Clover skips, again, to the bowl and picks the unlucky name. "Metro Davis."

Good, someone I don't know. He is rather quick and gets to the stage way faster than I did. But while he comes a small girl starts to scream and cry the boys name.

"Shake hands now!" Clover mentions us closer to each other. It's kinda awkward since I am left handed and he, for our all surprise, only has his right arm. I cannot help but glare at the stub, that is clearly his left arm. So I quickly change my hands and offer him my right hand.

I am ushered into a dark room with one small window, this is probably where I will say my good-byes to my loved ones.

"Aran!" My mom runs into the room, Kiva slowly walks behind her. "I'm so sorry, sweety. This should have never happened!"

Kiva behind her is crying her eyes out, so I just go and hug her.

"I will come back. You'll see."

"Promise?" She stutters.

"Yes. There is nothing that could stand in my way to not let me come back."

Our mother joins us and gives us both a hug. We are standing there like that for quite long time when I peacekeeper rushes in and pulls them away. So I am left alone again.

I wait for Evie for pretty long time. _What if she won't come?_ No, she will. And she does.

"Aran, I should have volunteered. I wasn't looking out for you. It's only my fault that you are here!"

"No, it's not. I was reaped. What's the point of volunteering if you don't want to, huh?" I stare at her again, just like before.

"I am sorry. And I am also sorry, that I couldn't get myself together and come earlier. I thought, that you will not want talk to me, that you will be mad and all." Evie looks down and turns away.

"Oh, so how much time do you got?"

To answer my question a peacekeeper rushes in and takes Evie away.

"I'm sorry, Aran!" I hear Evie yell through the door.

* * *

The train is one of the most fancy places I have ever seen. Just, wow. And suddenly Clover comes by and takes us in a group hug.

"This is going to be so much fun! Let's all sit down and get to know each other," Clover says cheerfully. He leads us to a table where we are supposed to sit. I know that this is probably the last time I will see all of this, but this is still Capitol, and I hate it.

Then Metro stands up and pulls out the chair for me and gives me a smile. I smile back and take the seat.

"So," Clover shrieks in joy. "Let's get down to business."

* * *

**Metro Davis, 16 - District 6 male**

**madge711**

* * *

I'm already awake; I had to be, there is never a second that I can waste. A second wasted is a second that could be a rabbit caught. A rabbit caught is a rabbit I can sell to the butcher, and that means I get money and some of the rabbit to feed my sister and myself. And luckily I do, I catch two, actually, in the prairie area outside my house. I'm not worried about being caught by the Peacekeepers; the keepers here in six don't care, and even if they did I am given lenience that is not questioned. I have no parents and take care of my little sister Leyna who is only seven. I smile at the thought of her; I love my little sister more than anything in the world.

I don't let today loom over me as I head to the butcher to give him the rabbits and help him skin them. I come in quietly to the shop and do my work.

The butcher, Sammi, helps me finish skinning the rabbits. "That's good work Metro, your skills are improving." I nod, not really in the mood to talk.

He appraisals the rabbits and pays me more than usual, and then instead of just giving me a leg he gives me a whole rabbit for myself! I look at him questioningly, "I didn't think they were this much," he shrugs, "they had a lot of meat on them and you did a good job. Plus, considering the day, I thought you and your sister would like a good meal." Now I get it, it's the Reaping and he feels bad for me. I leave without saying another word.

I go home and find Tanya sitting at the table – Tanya is my best friend and also kind of baby sitter. She stays with Leyna in the morning and after school until I get home. "What did you catch today?" I hold up a whole rabbit and her mouth drops, "Sammi let you keep the whole thing?!"

"Well… I caught two," I reply, "Is Leyna up yet?" she shakes her head, so I say, "Well, I'm going to cook this for breakfast if you want to go home and change. You're welcome to join us, though; there is plenty."

She says ok and hops out the open window of my shack and heads to hers. I cook absentmindedly but quickly and efficiently, and before I know it the food is ready. Leyna, of course, is sitting at the table in one of my t-shirts she wears as pajamas; if there is food prepared she is there in a heartbeat. I kiss her on the head, and she giggles.

We eat breakfast with Tanya, no one really making conversation. "How many times is your name in today?" Tanya asks softly. I shoot her a look as Leyna's face take on a scared look and a whimper escapes her. Dammit Tanya.

"Leyna why don't you go put on the outfit I laid out for you last night," I tell her. She nods and silently leaves the room. I clean up the dishes in the sink and go to my room to change, but not before I turn back to Tanya still sitting at the table and say, "Twenty-five."

I shower, then dress quickly. My mind racing; I glance at the wooden clock on the dresser and see that it is 10:45. Only 15 minutes; my heart beats a little faster. I enter the kitchen to see Leyna sitting at the table, mindlessly biting her finger nails. I smile a little, I cannot count how many times I have corrected and tried to rid her of this habit, but to no avail.

We walk to the square together, meeting up with Tanya and her parents on the way. I leave Leyna with Tanya's parents as we sign in and take our places.

I find Leyna immediately when I am in my spot with the 16 year olds. I flash her a reassuring smile as the Reaping commences. I tune out as the mayor introduces Clover Prinkle, the district 6 escort. I can't even stand to look at this man that so tall and fit, yet emasculated by his clover colored suit and periwinkle hair. I instead look down the row of boys I stand beside. I notice I am taller than many. I see similarities in hair color, but differ with my piercing green eyes.

The main thing that sets me apart is my stub of a left arm. People stopped giving me pitying glances a long time ago. I lost it while working in the factories after my parents died. But people show no pity for me now, I have adjusted and I am stronger from it. Though I am crippled I am not to be under estimated; I am stronger than many of the others here as well as skilled. My catching rabbits has made me nimble and my working with the butcher has skilled me with knives, cleavers, and axes. I ponder over what kind of tribute I would be with these skills… ugh no I can't think like that. I won't be tribute, I can't be tribute, I repeat to myself.

The escort calls out the girl's name, "Aran Haydes." I let out the breath I was holding, because it's not Tanya; that's good. She is my best friend in the world and frail, and I can't imagine her coming out of that alive, but now I don't have to worry about that. I watch the girl, fifteen years of age, being carried to the stage by a peacekeeper, while screaming and crying. Wow, I am really sorry for her; sadly I doubt she will make it through the bloodbath. I'm back in my head again, knowing that there can be no way that I will be picked as trib- "Metro Davis," shrills Clover Prinkle.

I look up. Did I get caught not paying attention? What just happened? Everyone around me parts like the red sea, creating a path to the stage. This is seriously happening. I finally get my feet to move and as I take the first step toward the stage I hear Leyna scream. I can't look, if I do I will break and I cannot break right now. I climb up the steps to look out at the crowd and see Leyna weeping into Tanya's shoulder. Her parents and Sammi are surrounding them in a protective cocoon. Clover tells Aran and me to shake hands, and we do so awkwardly since she is left handed and I only have a right hand. I hear Clover gasp at seeing this reality before he shuffles us into the Justice Building.

I am left in a room by myself that is empty, except for a dusty couch. Though I feel as if my legs can't hold me, I can't sit still. I pace back and forth and back and forth for what feels like forever, before they let anyone into see me. I don't know where I pulled my bravado from, but as soon as Tanya and Lenya came through the doors I am more confident than ever. Leyna launches herself into my arms and I hold her tightly and kiss her hair. "No matter what happens, I want you to know I love you so much," I tell her. She blubbers something inaudible and I tighten my grip. "You've got to be strong for me, ok? Tanya needs you," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

Tanya rolls her eyes and comes over to hug me. As she does this she whispers in my ear, "You better come back."

"I will try," I reply.

Leyna reaches into her pocket and pulls out a locket and hands it to me, "I was making this for you," she sniffles, "for your birthday next week." I open it and see a picture of Leyna and I with our parents, the only picture we have of them. I feel the tears sting as I fight to hold them back. On the other side of the locket is a picture of Leyna and Tanya- a picture I took of them. Tanya is holding Leyna upside down, and tucked in front of the picture is a piece of prairie grass. I run my hand over the blade of grass wondering if I will ever see my beloved prairies again. "Do you like it?" Leyna squeaks.

I realize that I have remained silent this whole time which must have caused some uncertainty in her. "I love it," I tell her and I slip it around my neck. I hold Tanya and Leyna tight for the remaining minutes I have with them; the only sound in the room is Leyna's whimpers. Then, all of a sudden, they are gone and I feel hollow. It is like I am blind; I can't see past my grief.

A hand comes down on my shoulder and I look up to see Sammi. I can't think of anything to say so I just stare at him as he sits next to me on the couch, neither of us saying anything. After a long moment, he finally speaks. "If- if you don't come back….I'll look after Leyna."

I finally look up at him, surprise all over my face, "What?" I ask.

"Metro, try like hell to make it back but…if for some reason you can't…. I'll take her in and make sure she is fed while you're gone." I only nod, knowing that this is a possibility. My stomach aches at the thought of someone else taking care of Leyna besides me, but if I am not there anymore, Sammi is the best chance she has. I sit here just mulling over all of this the pain in my stomach getting greater and greater.

The Peacekeepers come in to take him away and before he is out the door I finally speak, "Sammi!" He turns around. "Thanks," is all I say. He nods his head and then he is gone.

I am then ushered onto the train where Aran and I stand side by side, speechless. The train is furnished in the most extravagant fashion. Everywhere I look there are bright colors: reds, blues, greens, and then all I see is periwinkle. Clover finally lets us out of the group hug he suffocated us in, and I push his colored hair out of my face.

"This is going to be so much fun! Let's all sit down and get to know each other," he says cheerfully. He leads Aran and me over to the table and shuffles around to sit in the seat across from us. Aran stands frozen behind the chair, reluctant to sit down.

I stand and pull out her chair for her, and give her a reassuring smile. She smiles tentatively back and takes a seat.

"So," says Clover his voice losing all frivolous essence and a serious tone takes over. "Let's get down to business."


	7. District 7

**Catalaia Boyd, 16 - District 7 female**

**DanaRulezTheWorld**

* * *

"Wake up! All of you up!" My step-father's drunken voice rings through the house. I groan and sit up in bed. We live in the richer part of town, so all of us have our own room. Well, except Gail and Bailey. They share a room because Bailey is afraid of the dark. My door slamming open snaps me out of my reverie.

"What did I say?! Get up! Today is the reaping and we will not be late like last year!" Yuko thunders. I surpress a laugh. Last year we were late, and he got 50 lashes. He passed out around 20.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm moving," I grumble, getting out of bed. I go through the morning motions, brushing my teeth, a bath and washing my hair. Another knock on my door, this time softer.

"Come in," I call, and then turn around. It's just Gail.

"Cat? I'm scared." She jumps right in, not beating around the bush.

"I know. I am too," I admit. "You'll be fine. Three slips out of thousands," I assure her. She gives me a smile, a quick, "Thank you," and bounces out of my room. I then pick up my reaping outfit. Instead of the usual dress that girls wear, I decide on a pair of tight black jeans, and a white blouse. I slide into my white slippers and begin working on my face. My dark hair is stringy, due to the water. And my green eyes have faded. They fade more everyday, so instead of a bright Yuko green, I have my father's mint green. I pick up the curling comb, and set to work.

We all manage to meet downstairs on time, Bailey with a yellow sundress, white buckle up shoes, and her hair done up nicely. Gail wears a blue skirt, with a matching blue blouse tucked in. And some blue buckle-up's. My brother manages to look decent, considering all of his clothes contain tight shirts. A black button up shirt, with khaki pants, and black dress shoes Yuko bought him.

My eldest sister, Veronique, looks the most stunning. A white halter dress with white heels. Although she doesn't have to attend the reapings, she insists on looking as though she does.

Yuko looks at us, nodding in approval.

"Yes, well done. Now let's go," he claps. Bailey reaches for my hand and I cringe. I hate her more than life and death itself. Almost more than Yuko. Almost.

"I have to walk with Vero, since we're not eligible. But I like you Cat. I really like you," she says, and I try not to gag.

"You should walk with Vero anyway, okay? Go on," I say, and she goes to latch onto my sister. I can practically feel her tense up.

"C'mon, let's get this over with," Kevin says, and Gail, Kevin and I walk dreadfully to the reaping.

There comes a point and time in life, where you know you're going to die. It's absolutely inevitable, and everyone gets it. My point is when our escort called my name. The girls make way, parting the line for me. I rub my eyes and they come back wet. I quickly rub the tears away, take a deep breath and step forward. I do the only thing plausible right now, and give a loud laugh. There. My vision is still blurry, but I manage to make it on stage.

"Now for the boys." Clementina doesn't hesitate when she calls out the next name.

"Oliver Cerese!" and there he is. Hmm. He comes from the 17 year section, and he's attractive. Muscular and manages to keep a blank face. District 7 actually has a chance. I grin.

"Ladies and Gentlemen your tributes for the 7th annual Hunger Games: Oliver Cerese and Catalaia Boyd."

* * *

"You have got to be kidding me," Kevin growls. Bailey and Yuko apparently aren't coming, so it's only Kevin, Gail and Vero sending me off.

"Nope," I say, instead of my usual sarcasm.

"You work in the woods, you know how to use an axe. And you're clever, with the plants and animals. And you're fast," Gail stumbles, coming up with things I'm good at.

"And I'm small. I'm small compared to my district partner, compared to the careers," I say. Her face falls, and she cries.

"Look, just... steer clear of the cornucopia. Find water, make a few smart alliances. You can do this," Vero says, shaking my shoulders. Gail cuts between us, giving us a tight hug. Then Vero and finally Kevin.

"You forgot this," Vero says, and hands me my necklace. A heart pendant strung on a leather necklace. It's the last thing mother gave to me.

"Thank you," I say, fingering the necklace.

"Time!" a peacekeeper says. Gail clings to me, and they wind up carrying her out. Vero drop drops a kiss on my head, and turns to leave with Kevin.

"I love you," I tell him.

"I love you too... big sis," he says, and closes the door. I'm alone.

* * *

My mentor, Acton, and I are sitting alone when he invites the boy over. He instead asks to be escorted to his room. Fair enough. The train ride is awkward, and our escort won't shut up.

"-you see, because I have a knack for-"

"Not shutting the hell up?" I ask, nonchalantly. Our mentor snickers.

"That was completely out of context young lady!"

"Clementina, I don't give a fuck," I say, and she glares at me.

"Language!"

"Ugliness!"

"You're an animal."

"Says the monster herself," I snap. The train is rocked with silence, and I realize I'm standing, breathing heavily.

"Hmm," Acton, our mentor says. I take a deep breath, and pick up a roll.

"I'll be in my room." And with that, I walk away, biting into my roll and keeping the threatening tears where they are.

I wind up taking an hour in the fancy shower, eating in my room, and watching the recaps alone. Once I get a look at all my potential threats, and analyze the others, I lay back in the covers. I decide against the warm, cozy pajamas, sleeping just in an overly large t-shirt. I close my eyes and think about home. Then my district partner.

"Look out everybody, because we're going to wreak havoc this year," I mutter, and drift to sleep.

* * *

**Oliver Cerese, 17 - Disctrict 7 male**

**Faith-o-saurus**

* * *

I lay in bed and stare at the log ceiling, rays of sun peeking through to bathe me in slivers of light. Dust particles are shown where it hits; it's amazing how true the term "come to light" pertains to actual light. These specks floating around, so small and harmless, would have never been noticeable if it weren't for it "coming to light". I shake my head and try not to judge myself for lying here, pondering the wonders of dust.

I can hear my mother in the kitchen, banging pots around for a pre-reaping breakfast. This is the one day of the year that we allow ourselves to indulge – a way to put a pleasant spin on an otherwise macabre event.

I wait a few minutes more before forcing myself out of my small bed, my intention to dress and go help my mother in the kitchen. Alma wants me to meet up with her at 10:30 so we can walk to the Reaping together. I think about getting dressed, but decide to just head down to the kitchen instead.

My mother must hear me, because she looks up at me with a small smile before I make myself noticeable. "Good morning, Oliver."

I smile and walk over, grabbing a pan off of the ground that she must have dropped. "Morning. Need help?" I place the pan next to the small stove, and then lean against the counter, one foot crossed over the other.

She grabs a few of the small eggs from a basket on the counter that she had gathered from our lone chicken and places them in front of me. "Go ahead and use that pan to cook up these eggs," she says while motioning toward the pan I had picked up. I place it on the stove without another word.

We prepare the food in silence, my father most likely out back working on an intricately designed rocking chair that some prissy Capitol woman placed an order for. To them, our work is 'rustic', which apparently is a fashion statement right now.

By the lack of light feet tapping away, I conclude that the kids are still sleeping. Might as well, seeing as they will be standing out in the heat for an unnecessary amount of time. At least they won't be forced into a small roped off space full of body heat.

I glance over at my mother. Her face looks worn, but not from age. The reaping hangs above all parents of children twelve through eighteen, and it doesn't help that even though I only have one more left after this, greater age also comes with more reaping slips. I want to comfort her, but I've never really been one for that; I wouldn't know how. It's best for me to just act as though I don't notice, or it will just end up awkward. We continue to cook in silence, both lost in our own thoughts.

My father comes in about ten minutes later, while we're setting the table. He doesn't say anything to either one of us, and he seems to be purposely avoiding any eye contact with me. He was never really a man of words and has always bottled his emotions up inside. Many people think he just doesn't feel much, but I know what he does; I know because my personality comes from him. Or perhaps we're both empty inside, and just want to pretend like they're bottled up. I guess it doesn't really matter either way.

Just as he sits down at the table, I hear tiny footsteps nearing the kitchen. Eller, my three-year-old brother, sticks his head around the doorframe. His eyes scan over all of us before he stops at my mother and says in a hushed voice, "Mama, I can't sleep."

Her demeanor changes immediately. Perhaps it is a mother's instinct; to push aside their feelings for their young. "That's alright hun, breakfast is almost done," she says as she walks over to him and lifts him in her arms. "Momma's making a very yummy breakfast today." Her voice is now sweet as honey. She sets him down in the chair next to mine, and I ruffle his hair when he smiles up at me.

"Oliver, go and wake up Dara. We all still need to get dressed after breakfast," my father says as he starts on his eggs.

I nod and get up, heading down the short hall and into the bedroom Dara and Eller both share. She laying on her stomach, her cheek puffed out and a small line of drool down her pillow. I walk over and shake her shoulder gently. "Dara, get up."

She sucks in a breath and opens her eyes. Their half-lidded as she looks around in confusion. When she lands on me, she starts to come to her senses. "What time is it?"

"Almost 9:30. The Reaping starts at noon, so we really need to get moving. Come on." I pull her up and out of bed. She wobbles a bit when I let her go, but catches her bearings quickly and heads toward the door. I follow her out and down the hall, back to the kitchen. My mother has filled all of the plates, so all we need to do is sit down.

The only one making any sound while we eat is Eller, who is playing with his food and laughing. His eyes are sparkling, and I try to remember a time when I was that innocent; in the end, I realize that was much too long ago.

I get sick of the somber aura about fifteen minutes in, so I stand quickly and pick up my plate. "I'm full. I'm going to get dressed and go find Alma." I don't wait for a response, or really just don't listen. No matter how much I enjoy my family's company, I can only humor everyone for so long.

I have learned long ago to never wear white. In the end, it just ends up dirty and then you're forced to wash it, and eventually are forced to find another. My shirt is a dark blue – only a bit worn. Pants are a different story, with the dirty ground. If they are dark, the dirt shows; it's an easy fix, but a nuisance nonetheless. This is where it is good to wear a lighter color, such as my light brown. Still, never white.

I go to my closet and pull out my blue shirt and light brown pants, and then reach down to the floor to grab my Reaping shoes. They are uncomfortable, but are the nicest pair I have. They once shined, but nothing good lasts forever. I pull them on quickly, my right leg getting trapped in the pants before toppling over on the bed. "Shit." I huff and pull them on the rest of the way, then slip on and tie my shoes. My hair is the one thing that always gives me grief, the curls never neat. I really need a haircut.

I go to the bathroom and comb through it with a pick, then head down the hall and to the front door. I turn in the general direction of the kitchen and yell, "I'm leaving!" I hear some muffled responses, which I take as consent, and then open the door and leave.

Alma's house isn't too far from mine, so the walk is short. The scenery has always been nice, though, with the vivid green leaves on the vast amount of trees. One upside to practically living in the woods is the sense of serenity. I'm not particularly fond of crowds, or company in general, so being able to take trips through the wilderness works wonders.

When I reach Alma's, I see her father in the back chopping wood. When he looks up I nod to him, and he gives me a small wave before going back to work. It seems that no one will take the one day off they are allowed. I open the door to their home – I have come to here long enough that formalities are not necessary anymore – and close it behind me and pull of my shoes with my toes. I don't see her mother, so I figure she has gone out for the time before the Reaping. She has a weak heart. "Alma?"

"Bedroom," she says, but I barely hear her. Her house is not much different from mine; really only a mirror image. I head down to her room and see her sitting on her bed cross-legged, reading a horror novel. She glances up quickly. "Hey."

I go on the other side of the bed to sit down and lean against the head board, crossing my feet when settled. "Hey." We are people of few words. Most of our interactions are physical, which is in both of our comfort zones. In reality, it is the only comfort we both crave. I trail the tips of my fingers over her bare thigh and murmur, "What're you reading?"

"Invisible Rose," she says without looking up, though I can hear her breath become ragged and see her bite her lip.

I lean in to kiss her neck and whisper, "What's it about?"

She slowly closes her book and lays it on the wooden bed stand that my father made for her before turning her head to catch my lips with hers. "Do you really want to know?"

I smirk against her lips. "No." I take her bottom lip between my teeth.

We never do little pecks, loving smiles and warm gazes. We don't love each other; we enjoy each other's company. Some may call our relationship cold and unfeeling, and I can't exactly deny it, but it's not about everybody else. It's about us.

I push her down so I can lie on top of her, and deepen the kiss. I enjoy the tiny whimper she gives as I move my hands from her waist to her hips. My fingers span over her stomach and I gently caress as I move to nibble on her neck.

She pulls away a bit after, and I raise an eyebrow. Usually we finish, especially when things are going at this rate. She pushes me to the side and glances at the clock on her wall. "We need to get going if we're going to get there on time," she says before getting up and going to her small dresser. I watch as she pulls out a deep green dress and black shoes, and then put it on. I admire her figure for the small moment before she's heading to the door.

I get up and follow her out without a word, straightening my shirt on the way. When we get to the front I see her parents already waiting outside on narrow porch, their eyes on us the moment we're visible. Alma's mother brushes her fingers through Alma's hair, and her father pats me on the back. They've always liked me, probably because I've always played the part of a perfect boyfriend in front of them. I've been known to be quite the actor.

I have never liked the walk to the Justice Building. There is barely a minute before we are immersed in town, with loud children and idle conversation from the adults. The noise is deafening. Luckily, we are some of the last that make it to the table to check in, so most of it was deserted. Alma's family says their goodbyes to her, and I know they are hoping it is not their last. I'm sure my family would have wanted to say goodbye to me, as well, especially my little brother.

Alma and I split up after we get checked in, then stand in our designated areas. We're a bit late, so it's already beyond crowded. I glance around, looking for my best friend Charlie. I'm taken by surprise when I feel a punch on the back, and when I turn around I am face-to-face with him.

"Hey there, buddy! Ready for some fun?" There is a smirk on his face, though the fear is evident in his eyes. He waves to someone that has caught his attention before turning back to me.

I roll my eyes, but give him a smile regardless. "You know it. Gotta love these Reapings, right?"

He laughs and pats me on the back. "Just the best. You're a bit late." He raises an eyebrow.

I shrug. "I was with Alma."

"Ahh, all right, I gotcha." He winks with a large grin. "You know, th-"

"Welcome! Welcome, everyone, to the Seventh Annual Hunger Games!" We both turn when our escort, Clementina Parrino, starts her staged speech. She's wearing a black tailored dress covered in colorful roses and deep purple heels that look impossible to walk in. Her hair is in such tight curls that she looks like a porcelain doll. I must have not been listening while surveying her ridiculous appearance, because the scheduled video has already started. Same old, same old – some shit about victory and everything the Capitol does for us. Really, it just seems like survival of the fittest to me. The screen goes blank, and I know it's now time for the real fun.

Clementina heads over to the right glass bowl, sticking her left hand in the bowl and flicking it out. She looks it over, her yellow lashes flickering, and then looks out at the crowd with a smile. "Catalaia Boyd!" I don't recognize the name, so she must not be in my class. I keep my eyes to the front and cross my arms, waiting for her to appear. I see a flash of brown before she is ushered up the stairs, and oddly enough she's laughing. Well, all right.

Clementina doesn't spend too much time on her before going over to the boys' bowl. Now, when she looks out at the crowd with that same clown grin, you can imagine my surprise when I hear my name. Interesting. I share a look with Charlie – he looks horrified – before stepping out of the crowd. I keep my face blank, which really isn't too hard. Honestly, I think I might have a chance at this thing. I'm pretty tall, and probably strong enough with all of the work I've done with Alma's father. You never know. So many people spend this time fretting for their lives, which is a waste of time.

They usher me up the stage and I take a glance at our only victor, Acton Berkeley. He won the second games at the age of eighteen, making him 23 years old. He's in a nice tailored suit, but he looks less than happy. He's always seemed to have a bit of a soft side, or at least what I've seen of him. Obviously there is an undeniable hardness in his heart – after all, nobody is a victor by chance. I then look at Alma. Her face is emotionless, just as I expected and appreciate. I skip over everyone else and wait until we're lead into the building and to separate rooms.

The first visitors are obviously my parents. Eller comes up and hugs my leg, tears in his eyes. He's too young to understand what's going on, so I'm sure the crying is a reaction to my mother and sister's own. "I love you, Oliver." His voice is muffled from being buried into my pants.

I ruffle his hair and offer him a smile. "You too, bud. Now, go stay with momma, all right?" He looks at me with his big eyes before shuffling back over to my mother, keeping his gaze on me.

My mother is still crying, so I figure she won't be giving a proper goodbye anyway. Dara is stuck to my mother's side. I look up at my father, and he looks the same as always.

He walks over and gives me a pat on the back before saying, "You're strong, Oliver. You'll come back." They are taken away less than a minute later.

Next is Charlie. When he walks in, he stills like a deer caught in a headlight. His mouth is opening and shutting, small strings of words coming out. "Dude, I…fuck…you know…you're gonna be okay." We stare at one another before he rushes over and gives me a one-armed hug, and then he's gone. I hate hugs.

I go and sit on the couch, and about five minutes later Alma comes in. I wasn't sure if she was going to come at all, but I have to admit that it's nice to see her. I nod toward the spot next to me on the couch.

She takes it and leans back before looking at me. "So, you've been reaped."

I nod. We sit in silence for a bit, until she reaches into one of her dress pockets and pulls out a worn leather bracelet. "What's that?"

She glances toward me, but this time there is something in her eyes. Sadness? Fear? I couldn't tell you, but it's a foreign emotion one way or another. "It's some bracelet I made when I was younger. I have to use for it, so I figured you could us it as a token. I doubt you have anything."

I look at her for a long while, then grab it and put it on. "Thanks." It surprises me that this exchange took a whole three minutes, because the Peacekeepers have just opened the door to usher her out.

I sit back and close my eyes, not sure where to let my mind set. The district I'm leaving behind? The Capitol? All the ways I could kill my district partner? In the end, my thoughts end up on Alma and that look in her eyes. I'm much too curious than what I'm comfortable with.

The ride to the train is a quiet one, besides the chatting of Clementina about curtains and how she just has to get the purple. It is just so in this season, apparently. I'm more than happy when the car stops and we're allowed out.

"Ah, we're here! Finally, I just can't wait to get out of this district," Clementina screeches as she pops out of the car, hurrying us onto the train's steps.

Color. That's all I see when I enter the first car. Peach and lavender-colored foods. Drinks the color of the sky. Deep cherry wood tables and bright pink and green couches. I'm really not sure what to make of it all. Once I'm done taking in my surroundings, I see that my district partner – what was her name again? – and Acton are sitting in two chairs surrounding what I believe to be some odd form of a coffee table.

Acton notices me staring and waves me over. "Oliver, come on over. We have another chair." I hate the pity in his eyes. I don't have time for pity.

I stare at them both blankly for a second more, then ask one of the servants to take me to my room. I'll have a better chance at all of this alone. I can hear Clementina chatting away, then Catalaia yell, and I almost laugh. The woman leading me does not talk, and it makes me wonder if this is her job or her sentence. I thank her when she allows me in, then close and lock the door behind me.

The room is no better than the rest of the train. The walls are much too bright to sleep in, and it would not be hard to just slip out of the satin sheets on the bed. The only normal object is the large wooden dresser on the far side wall. I decide to take a look, so I walk over slowly and open the first drawer. Undergarments, though they don't look to comfortable. The next drawer is full of pajamas. The next is shirts. Last is full of pants. I notice a chest at the end of the bed and open it up. I'm disappointed when I see it is full of shoes and cologne. Who puts those two together?

I sigh and roll my eyes, then go back to the dresser to take out a pair of pajamas. The best pair I can find consists of a royal blue short sleeve shirt and matching pants. They are both silk, which is unfortunate. It's much too early for bed, so I go and lie down in my bed, contemplating the day's events, and then I do start thinking up ways to kill.

In the end, I realize that I do have a chance at winning.


	8. District 8

**Cookies A/N: Hey there! There has been difficulties with the District 8 male. But no worries. When he is gonna be posted I'll let you know in another A/N, then you all are gonna review him. Okay? Great! :]**

_**A/N from author of this chapter..: Yeah, I hope it's alright. Her mood and stuff is kinda all over the place but I tried to make stuff all.. yeah...**_

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**Velveteen 'Velvet' Oison, 15 - District 8 female**

**Dissection of The Mind**

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It's exactly 11:43 in the morning and I'm still not ready.

The small alarm clock to my left is ticking away annoyingly as my neck hurts from being in one position to long. I really should have gotten up when Thimble shook me from my slumbers. She had poked at my face saying harshly how I'd miss breakfast (which was a slice of bread and some nutritional drink my brother makes.)and how I wouldn't have time to try clothes on. Which didn't faze me as much as it should have, me being from district eight and all.

With a sigh, I sit suddenly up from my bed, the futon itself shifting along with the decrease of weight. My head has a slight throbbing but I can't deal with that now. I must look amazing today and be on time.

With palms pushing down on the mattress, I push myself up from its non-existent comforts. The world spins slightly and black dots begin to fill my vision, the blood in my head pumping. I stay still for a moment, willing it to go away as it normally did. After a moment, it does go away and I am able to continue with what I'm supposed to do.

My room is small in the least, my entire house consisting of one floor with three rooms. There are no windows, only the faint sight of colored fabric hanging on rusty nails. The doors.. are just doorways. Nothing more, nothing less.

My room is, I believe, the smallest one in this pathetic excuse for a house. My brother decided he and his wife would get the biggest one. _No. _He demanded he got the biggest one. So selfish!

Psh.

My hand rests on the chest that contains all of my clothes and such. Light wood is showing through the scraped up green as the latch hung aimlessly on a thread. I place my olive fingers on the top, and lift it off with a slight grunt.

I wipe my brow, as if it was the hardest thing on the planet to do. I kneel down, my knees catching up stray dust and dirt as I rummage through the container.

My clothes have the faint scent of mothballs and old people as I lift a burgundy dress from the contents. It's not the prettiest, especially with that odd stain on the front. Nor does it mean anything to me since it's my brother's wife's. Hand me downs they call it.

With yet another sigh, I take off my previous garments and replace it with the dress. I don't even bother to make sure it's on correctly because it's now 11:56. Crap.

And I didn't even eat breakfast yet! It's official, I'm most likely going to die of hunger.

"I'm hungry!" I whine from my room, giving a childish stomp.

"...Too bad!" a voice responds, no doubt my brother.

"Blah!" is my oh so intelligent response. I fiddle anxiously with my hands for a moment before kneeling back down again to grab a hair tie. With the black elastic set firmly on my wrist, I pull my shoulder length hair back into a half pony-tail.

With hair tied back and an interesting dress on me, I exited my room feeling prepared for nothing yet everything.

Okay, more likely nothing.

**Reaping**

"Ow!" I exclaim as a needle punctures my skin. The lady presses my now bleeding finger to the paper, but not before getting my name. It hurts to look at and just hurts in general. With suddenly hollow legs I walk over to the fifteen year old section.

I push through the crowd muttering 'excuse me' every now and then, feeling some people involuntary move as I do. A few of them mutter 'hey' or 'watch where you're going'! but I don't care right now. I must be by Leila by the time our escort opens her or his mouth. It's essential.

When I finally reach Leila, a smile stretches across my face. She isn't facing me, moreover she's staring at the mayor that has began the treaty of treason. I look around to see if anyone was watching, but I didn't see anyone in my line of sight.

With a short lived smirk I jump towards her, barely grazing her shoulders. My hands latch onto her shoulder and shoulder blade as I use her to keep me up.

"HEY!" she shouts, clearly surprised. She most likely was becoming engrossed in the mayor's words, as she typically did. Her back muscles tighten as do her arms and she stays put, with a few wobbles here and there. I feel the grip I barely had slipping away. She shakes me a bit and I fall to the ground with an ow.

"Are you trying to kill me?! Or worse, maim me?" I shout, drawing attention to us. I look around, giving everybody apologetic smiles but they just stifle laughs.

At least this'll be a good conversation topic.

The mayor pauses a moment before resuming, his eyes glancing toward the girl on the ground. I get up with help from Leila and she smirks.

"C'mon. Prepared to become a turtle?" she asks randomly, her dark blue eyes alighting with amusement.

"Yep yep!" I reply, biting my top lip. Leila stares at me for a moment, as if trying to figure something out before she turned to face the mayor again.

I look to the mayor who is now retreating to a seat, as a.. boy? No.. is that a girl? Walks up, clearly the escort.

The escort is clothed is a one piece suit, stitched together by a blind stylist. Their are several different fabrics and laces decorating the suit, visible line of stitchery binding it together. A white, ruffled collar chokes it's neck (the escort, I have no clue at it's gender.).

It begins with a few words, describing themselves as a bubbly, free spirited person. Their voice is a mixture of a prepubescent child and an elderly person. It continues speaking, telling us about how wonderful it is to be here.

"And children! I can see you all anxiously awaiting the name, wanna get a spot, eh?" it asks, leaning forward slightly. Their clockwork like hat tilts forwards as it moves, yet seems to be held to their neck by a piece of string.

Nobody says a word. It's not like you would expect them to though.

It gives a painted grin as their hand grips the side of the female bowl, their beady, gray eyes flicking across the crowd. Their hand dives in, him not even bothering to look as it pulls out two slips.

"Whoopsie daisy!" it trills, looking to the two papers and throwing one back in. With caked, white hands it peels the paper apart, the dim outline of a name visible if close enough.

My hands start to shake as I move my feet up and down, walking in place. My anxiety begins to nag at me and I feel the sudden urge to puke as I always did at reaping. It was frightening, knowing you could be chosen. Especially when they held a female slip in their hands, possibly containing your name.

_What if I'm picked? Oh God, I-_

"Velveteen Oison!" it says, a stupid grin crossing it's features.

Wow.. this feels like a really dramatic moment. And.. ironic...

My head begins to spin as my heart begins to pound. I feel as if someone had just gripped my heart with fear and was pinching all the small parts in my brain. With sweaty palms I begin to walk forward, stumbling slightly on the cobbled ground.

Maybe if I didn't think of that I wouldn't be going up. But, it had two slips. Just great, luck was _definitely _on my side. Note the sarcasm.

Leila looks at me with shock, her arms straight at her sides. She says nothing as I pass her. Her head follows my stumbling legs as I keep on going.

I feel the breakfast I didn't have rising up quickly in my sickly stomach, bile rising to my throat. My throat begins to move as I feel the vomit tainting my taste buds with pure disgusting-ness. I press my lips tightly together, hoping to keep it down but the pressure on the inside of my lips is too much. With a final effort of keeping it down I try swallowing the chunky mixture.

I manage to swallow a bit, but the rest breaks through my barricade and spills unlovely onto the ground. A girl shrieks and jumps away as some splashed onto her boot. I look around, nausea still poking at me. Several people are looking at me, mostly the people on the stage.

With a sudden burst of energy I rush up to the stage, tripping on one of the steps. I fall and lay down on it, using my hands to climb up there. My dress drags across the stage as I pull myself up with my arms. None the less, I do get back up and go to the spot next to the escort. I look out to the crowd with a wide eyed expression as it welcomes me to the stage.

It goes over to the males bowl, but all I can do is stare into space.

A light sheet of smog is in the air, the smell of oil present. A rhythmical sound of humming machines plays in my ears as the crowd before me looks to the escort. The outline of small houses and large industrial buildings looms behind all of the caged children, causing my skin to crawl suddenly.

I rub my hands together, interlocking my fingers briefly. My throat feels dry as the taste of fresh vomit still lingers in my mouth. I turn my head to the right and see a peacekeeper standing there, looking straight ahead. Why do they always wear those visors?

The feel of a cool, light breeze tugs at my hair and neck. Was it always this cold?

"Shake hands!" it pipes, breaking me from my thoughts.

When I don't make a move, just acting like I don't notice, the escort grabs my hand, placing it in the boys. I look up briefly and catch a faint trace of hazel eyes, looking as if he was staring into my soul.

I gave a brief nod and shook the boy's hand, noticing a faint trace of white make up on my hand.

The boy, for now nameless, gave me a creepy smile, the faint shine of silver on his ear.

**Goodbyes**

I have waited for what seems like forever and they still aren't here! My life is ending and they are probably out celebrating it, or something of the sort. It's not like my brother and I were close, in fact, we weren't. So I couldn't expect him to come.

When my brother was 15 and I was 9, our parents left. Yeah, it's typical during these times but it didn't matter. You could call it a cliche happening or something of the sort. All in all it's happened and it had taken it's toll.

I typically shook it off which in all honesty, I do a lot. Pushing the feelings and emotions down. I always feel the urge to be needed and liked though. I..it really has taken a toll. I'm not certain but I feel like their departure from my brother and I has left me feeling all alone. All I want is someone to be there.

But that's not going to happen anytime soon.

At least in my district. To most, I'm just the class clown. No purpose but to cause laughter and perform dramatic acts that causes even myself to question my sanity.

Leila, she's always been there. Just only physically. She tries to make me feel needed, inviting me to hang out with her other friends but I feel like I don't belong. I don't think anybody really does, in all honesty.

Leila, when I first told her about such things, gave a brief laugh and gave me short reassurance. It lasted for about a day before the feeling of uselessness returned. But, I can be useful by making others laugh... Right?

Speaking of Leila..

"Velvet!" she practically shrieks, her eyebrows reaching toward her forehead in excitement. Her eyes still held utter shock as she propelled towards me, throwing herself on my sitting body.

I let out an 'oof' as the couch's springs bounce.

"Hilo." I say hoarsely. She was laying on me so it was hard to breath.

She thankfully got off and looked around. "Nice place you've got here.." she nods, her eyes and head surveying the room.

"It's not mine!" I pipe, sitting up. I pat to a spot on the red couch, inviting her to sit. Without a second glance she plops herself down, sitting on the tips of my fingers.

"Ow! I like my fingers, thank you very much." I say, yanking them from under her.

"Sorry.." she mumbles, taking a deep breath.

"So! Have anything to tell me?" I ask, my brown eyes widening.

She doesn't respond, only purses her lips.

"Leila?" I ask, poking her arm.

She just looks at me, sadness deep in her blue orbs.

"Leila?" I pester, poking her more harshly.

Her bottom lip pops out, giving her the look of a demented puppy. I stifle a slight laugh as she touches my knee gently. I look at her hand and open my mouth to say her name again, but am caught by a sudden hug.

"I'm going to miss you!" she says, squeezing me tighter. My arms slowly encase her as I hug her back.

"You say it like I'm going to die.." I trail, gulping back nervousness. I give a small, forced laugh.

"You.. most likely will." she cries, squeezing me even tighter. My arms loosen as I slightly push her away.

"Seriously? What kind of encouragement is that?" I ask, my face muscles tightening in annoyance.

"I'm just being honest!" she cries again, moving in to hug me. I push my hands out blocking her attack as her hands grip my shoulders.

With her at arm's length I say, "Are you serious? What happened to words of encouragement?! Do you not care about my life? Can't you just once say something that will help my self-esteem?!" I begin to shout, my heart pumping with all of the drama.

Silence.

"Well.." she begins softly. "I'm not going to lie to you.. You have no experience.. You can run, sure. But will that help you with killing a person? Are you going to run so much that it somehow kills a person? Tell, me. What do you really know? Do you know anything about plants even?" her eyes are wide with concern, not hurt. I intended to at least get to her, but she seems oblivious to it.

I quickly open my mouth to argue, but realize I have no good replies. I snap it shut, giving a nod. "Couldn't you at least.. pretend I have a chance?" I ask quietly, my lips white from sucking them in due to anxiety.

"...Ee-uh.." she responds, her hand reaching toward her pocket. Her fingers seem to be searching for something, anything.

"Are you going to shoot me?!" I ask, alarmed. "I mean, sure I'll get out of these games and stuff." I shrug.

She looks me briefly in the eye, her hand still in her pocket. She removes it from her one, transferring it to the other.

"Oh no!" I cry, acting as if I fainted.

"I don't have time for this." she grumbles, grabbing my hand in her pale one. I open one eye seeing a small, uneven cut piece of velvet.

"That's my name." I state blandly, one eye still open. Within a moments notice I'm up on my butt, sitting again. "Thanks." I smile, meeting her eyes.

"Yo' welcs." she sighs, her shoulders slumping as if in defeat. "Though.. you should know.. your brother told me to give it to you and says you're an alright kid."

I pause for a moment, thinking this over. Handing it back to her I say, "Tell him to come and give it to me. Not that I don't think you're awesome.. It might have more meaning coming from him... No offense.." I say, scratching my head awkwardly.

I felt horrible saying that, turning down the gift. Telling her to get my brother to hand it to me instead. But, it would. no offense, have more meaning then.

Leila's face goes a deathly pale as she gulps awkwardly. "Umm..." she begins, opening her mouth as if to continue. It snaps shut and opens partially again, but snaps it shut yet again.

I look to her with my brows furrowed, a million reasons flashing through my mind. Maybe he collapsed? Maybe his wife was having a baby? Wait, no. She wasn't fat or anything. Unless..

"Umm.. he kinda said he didn't want to see you?" she says, her voice rising.

My face drops and she must notice the change in my emotion because she adds, "He was just too distraught, you know them men!" she gives an awkward chuckle and I gulp back a bit of hurt.

I just give a nonchalant shrug, emotion possibly clear on my face. "Doesn't matter. I'll see him if I come home. Um, tell him I love him and stuff when you see him. And tell Thimble I like her hair." I bring my finger to my chin, looking up to the ceiling. "Aaand.. yeah." I finish, bringing my head back down to face her, nothing else crossing my mind.

"Oh!" she says, jumping a bit. Her eyes showed a bright spark. "You know the dude who was reaped?" she asks, leaning forward a bit. She gives a brief snap like she figured something out.

"Heh, I wasn't paying all that much attention." I admit, the only thing I had noticed about my district partner was his eyes.

"Well, his name's Isaiah or something." she begins, looking around the room. She leans in with her hand cupped to her mouth and whispers. "And he's creepy." she retreats, her eyes large and unblinking for a moment.

"Um. Okay?" I offer, feeling slightly confused. I wasn't sure what she meant exactly, I mean, for all I know I am creepy myself.

"Just, watch that guy... Also, look out for other people. Never trust anybody." she says, hand around her mouth but not leaning in.

"Does he have a lot of friends?" I ask.

"How would I know? I'm no stalker!" she says amusingly.

"Haha, alrighty then."

Silence. Again.

"Oranges!" I say randomly, uncertain. I didn't want to stop talking, I needed something to kind of take my mind off things. Besides, it's unnecessary! Heh.

"..Bananas..." she says, flashing her signature cat face.

"Tacos!"

"Heh. Creamy donuts."

"You can be quite the pervert, Lelia." I say, interrupting the flow of things. I raise my eyebrows suggestively, smiling.

"Ah, we're so odd!" she says, her voice squeaking in pitch then lowering with the 'd'.

"Three minutes!" a peacekeeper shouts in, opening the door a sliver.

"What? That's too short! How long have you even been here?" I ask, craning my neck slightly to take a peek at the clock. Sadly, I cannot tell because for 1, it took her awhile to actually come in. And 2, I didn't know what time she had actually come in at.

Leila shrugs. "Eh, they just want to control us even more."

"How many others are out there to see me?" I ask, giddy at the thought of a long line. It would make my day to see people actually wanted to see me off.

"Only me." she says, soon adding something else due to the look of disappointment on my face. "There's still time." she says, pawing the air once. As if it was a real, tangible thing.

"Oh yeah, I can tell by the time of 12:46." I say sarcastically, sighing. "Did you at least leave a mark?" I point to the spot she pawed at.

"One minute and counting!" the most likely same peacekeeper says, opening the door yet another crack.

"Okay!" Leila begins, standing up. "I'm really going to miss you.." she says, her voice cracking slightly. I stand up as well and give her a hug which she happily returns. She doesn't answer yet another question, but I suppose it wasn't important.

"I love you, Velveteen." she says softly, squeezing me a bit tighter.

I feel my face flush. "Uh.." I begin. "Um, I love you too." I say, feeling odd.

She pulls back slightly, noticing my colored face. "Oh, like a sister silly!" she chuckles, wrapping her arms around me again.

"Oh, yeah. Me too." I say awkwardly, still feeling odd and most likely, still blushing.

**Train Ride**

_CLICK!_

The sound of it is jarring, the light blinding. A man from the Capitol had jumped in front of us, snapping our picture. The lingering sight of yellowed orbs tints my vision each time I blink. Murmurs resembling unnecessary questions reach my ears.

We say nothing as, 'A', our escort told us.

'A''s gender is still unknown. I don't want to ask and be rude, but that doesn't stop me from thinking about it. Isaiah is staring at both of us, a smirk present. His eyes seem.. snake like.

'A' is opening the train door, peacekeepers pushing people back as we board the train. I feel bad, the career districts must get many people. Colossal amounts probably.


	9. District 9

**Cookies A/N: Hey there! I am the so called boss of this great collaboration. Of course Estoma and Faith are also huge help! So my tribute (I hope) will blow your minds! Enjoy!**

* * *

**Paiton Rais, 16 - District 9 female**

**I've got cookies**

* * *

6 a.m. Wow. I have broken my last years 7 a.m. record. I wonder how early I'm going to get up next year. Damn Games. Even though I nearly care about them, I can't sleep like a normal person during reaping morning. Weird thoughts going through my mind. A huge line of what-if's.

Me reaped, Clara - my little thirteen year-old sister - reaped. My big 18 year-old brother Ethan reaped. Me and Ethan both reaped. Clara and Ethan reaped. Me volunteering for Clara. Her volunteering for me. Ethan volunteering for someone.

My friend Anthony reaped. Both of us reaped. Ethan volunteering for him. And the other way around.

I sit up and look around my room. It's quite small, I think. It only has one window. And the pale yellow walls somehow hold the belief of the district. Sunny fields with golden grain and all that stuff.

Well, time to get up. My tea won't make it self.

I try to get up as quietly as possible. I and Clara share the same room, and she usually wakes up at the slightest sound. During these years with her I have learned to walk so silently, so no one would hear a slightest noise.

This is my fifth year and only five slips so far. There are many kids in the district, that take tesserea for food. Not me, thank God.

My mother as a doctor and father as a shoe seller I have nothing to worry about in my life. Well, of course, I'm not as rich as the mayors kids. Actually there are only few families in the district, that could be called rich. I've seen those kids in the poorer parts of the district, they are unhealthy, weak. But no one can blame them for what they are.

I walk silently to the kitchen to make tea for my self. The room is pretty nice, I might say.

It has light green walls, few wooden brown cupboards hang above my head. I open one of them to take a cup for my tea. I tilt my head a bit to the right to look out of the window. The district is sleeping. Still sleeping.

This is the only window in my house I can see the wheat fields and districts poor citizen homes. The sun is slowly rising over them. The houses aren't exactly the most beautiful view, but the fields are.

However, I came here to do something else than adore ugly buildings and endless fields.

Hmm, the water is hot, mom or dad must have been here recently. I take some peppermint and put it in my cup. The water is boiling hot in the old kettle.

"Ahh," I let out a small sound as I accidentally pour the boiling hot water on my arm. That's gonna leave a nasty mark on my right palm. Without much thinking I put my hand under running water. "Well then fuck you, tea!" I whisper at my cup of tea in a very angry tone.

My hand still pulses, it feels like it's on fire or something. Like what the hell, hand?

I silently slide to the living room, where the TV is placed. I bet I have no luck of seeing some last years Games footage. Or something about this years bets.

I turn on the TV and turn the sound down to minimum. Oh, I was wrong.

"You are not a quiet as you think you are," a low voice from the stairway states.

I turn around just to make sure, that it's my brother, "Shut up, goof!"

Ethan smiles and makes his way to the couch where I am sitting. He has dashing brow hair and cute brown eyes, and few freckles that just tops it all off. But he is a softy, unlike me.

So the freckles and dashing brown hair is our only similarity. I have rather green eyes and not so nice personality. And, of course, we both have a great body built.

"So either Clara is deaf or I have super hear-" Ethan suddenly stops when he sees my hand, "what happened to you?"

"Oh, nothing big, I just poured hot water on it," I try to assure him, but I know that he won't get over it until the hand will be cured.

"No, no. Let me see that!" He takes my right palm and carefully looks at it. Our mother taught us the first aid basics when we could barely talk or walk. She always said, that this is important and one day we will need to know how to cure us, our siblings or some random people.

But she mostly did it, I guess, so at least one of us would like her job and would take over the family dispensary.

Ethan slowly puts down my hand and takes the first aid kit from one of the kitchen's cupboards. He takes out a orange tube that obviously has some kind of cream in it. He comes closer and sits besides me again. Now I can read what is on that tube.

_For burns. Put somewhere out of children sight. Only for outer use. I case of swallowing, get a medical help._

_District 6 PN._

"Now stay still!" Ethan orders. He accurately puts the cream on my palm. It feels better already. When he is done with it he takes some roll bandages and carefully wraps my hand into it.

"You're good with this stuff," I pause to see how he's doing, "have you thought about your future job?"

"A little," I wince in pain a bit when he ties the bandage a bit too much. "Oh, sorry!"

"So... What have you thought about?"

"Well, I'm not sure. I was thinking about.."

"About what?" I eager him to talk faster.

"A peacekeeper."

"What? They usually come from two. Well, you do have a great body build, but I'm not sure. You seem," I pause to find the right word that would describe him. Ah, there it is, "too nice."

"I knew you will say that. But not every peacekeeper has to be rough and mean. There are nice ones too."

"I don't know. Seems risky. And what if you get transferred? What then?"

"I won't."

"Okay, you aren't getting this. They killed people during the Dark Days! People just tend to hate them. Why? Because they destroyed families. Killed their friends. They only get respect if they use brutal force and hurt them-"

"I get it! But if I stay here, people will know how good I am and will respect me. Without your silly brutal force and hurting them. Besides... I already signed up. I got accepted and I also talked them into not transferring me," he puts his nice smile on his lips.

"Ethan, don't! I just don't wanna lose you."

"You won't. So stop being so silly! Have you thought about your future."

I change my face to a very serious one, "Future victor sounds good, huh?"

Ethan's smile completely fades and he is looking at me as in waiting if my expression will change or not.

"I'm kidding! Do you think I am stupid? That was a joke, I would never want that," I try to assure him, that that will never happen. Only in case of me being reaped, which will never happen.

"Okay then... What do you want to become?"

"I don't know yet, I have enough time to think," I close my eyes and lay my head on his chest. Ethan starts to stroke my hear and my eyes begin to get heavy with sleep. "Don't make me fall asleep."

Ethan starts to shift in his seat, so I lift my head. He stands up just to turn on the TV. The only program the whole nation can see is always about the Capitol and Hunger Games. So these few weeks we'll be seeing nothing but Kleon Gradizean talking about the games. How our district will fail again. Only if I or Ethan would enter the games. Then our district would have a victor. _No, we won't! Better victor-less district than a dead sibling._

Endless bets on kids. Who will live longer, who will win. Who will make it into the final eight. It's never about who will die first or won't make it past the initial Bloodbath.

"_And while I might as well show my face to you, my lovely nation, I also could give you the footage of the 6th Annual Hunger Games!_" the voice on the TV announces. I look at Ethan and he just shrugs his shoulders. A motion that obviously says _why not?_

We watch the whole thing. From District two reaping, they won last year, to the victor coronation ceremony. The last years victor was Amanda Sterling and she had quite handful of victims. At the reaping she looked kinda nice and all, but at the coronation ceremony she looks quite unstable.

"Good morning!" Clara greets us with her cheery voice. She reminds me a lot of myself when I was her age. Her looks, of course. Those green eyes and brown hair. Except she has no freckles. And neither did I when I was thirteen. And neither did Ethan. So her fate is face full of freckles. That thought just makes me smile.

"What time is it?" Ethan pulls her into his lap.

"Ten thirty," wow, we've been here for three hours. "Time to get up and get ready!"

...

Before I get into our car I take a quick glance into the mirror that is place right nex to the door.

My hair done in to a nice french braid, I am wearing a simple white blouse and black skirt. I smile a bit to myself. I look great!

"Stop adoring yourself and lets go, sweety!" my dad kisses my forehead and leads me to our car. It's small, but a car. It only has two doors, but it's a nice shade of black. It was very cheap and our family aren't the first owners of it. But no one in nine can get a new car. So yeah, we have a car.

Our parents take us to the Justice Building. All three of us go to our sign up lines to get to our age sections. This is one of the parts I don't enjoy. They take blood from our fingers, and that kind of hurts.

When I'm done with the sign up I go to my age section at a slow pace.

"Hey, Paiton!" a familiar voice calls my name behind me. Anthony, my best friend.

"Hey, Anthony!" I greet him and he gives me a hug. I hug back. Only this is different. And stronger and longer hug. Anthony is seventeen, so he won't be with me when the stupid Capitol is gonna be killing my nerves, me at worst.

"Wanted just to say hi. I must go now. See you later?" Anthony raises his eyebrows that match his question. Although this is unusual. He has never done something like this. An awkward good luck talk before the reaping. He obviously wants to say something to me.

You see, people have tried to make a couple out of us, but it never worked. And we are happy that way.

He has blonde hair and grey eyes. Another chance for the district to have it's victor. I would say that he is perfect. I hope that one day someone will win and it won't be me, Ethan or Anthony.

"Okay, later then," but he is already gone. At times like these I really miss him. He should be next to me. Supporting me now. But he can't. Damn games.

I carry on to my age section. I don't try to find my friends in the big sixteen-year-old crowd. That would be close to impossible right now. But I wouldn't be me, if I didn't push around people to find who I want to find.

"Welcome, District Nine, to the 7th Annual Hunger Games!" the mayor starts his speech about the Dark days, Treaty of Treason and the Hunger Games. Why _we need them._What do they mean and so on.

When the mayor is done the escort quickly takes his place, "Welcome again, District Nine! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" I hate her! I hate the speaker on the stage.

Our escort, Desaree Lilacia, starts her charade in her annoying Capitol accent. Gah! Just shut up, loser. Just because you have nothing better to do than reap kids for Hunger Games doesn't mean you have to be annoying.

Oh, who am I kidding. That's your stupid job!

She's a tall woman with a puff of magenta hair. She always wears colors like bright pink and purple. Who could actually think, that she is beautiful? Only one word for her. Ugh!

"As usual, lady's first!" No, really? I cannot believe! Lady's first! _Yay!_

She makes her way to the girl's reaping ball. As I said before, she's killing my nerves. Me at worst.

No, none sense. My name reaped right now would be wrong. There are other people who have way more slips than I do.

"PAITON RAIS!" umm, what? No, you must have read it wrong! "I repeat. Paiton Rais."

What the hell? Me? No, no, NO! How the fuck did I get reaped? But that's okay. I can't now show that I am scarred. I am not even sure that I am scarred. Just really, really confused of how this could have happened.

I step onto the pathway and head to the stage. I must think of a strategy, probably being strong and acting like almost Career. That's stupid, but obviously the only way for me to live.

Many people start to cheer and clap their hands when I get to the stage. Soon it becomes a huge cheering for me. And I am not stupid. This is no Career district, there should be no cheering. No, what are you doing, people? You should be sad! Stop that _right now!_

"What a _lovely_ girl," Desaree says, "does anyone here want the chance to take her place?"

No one. Well then fuck you, nine.

"Well then, onto the boys."

She goes to the other bowl that has boy names. Desaree mixes the bowl's content up a bit, then picks one slip.

"And this lucky boy will be-" damn, woman! Say who it will be! "Brandon Heath!"

A small twelve-year-old from the back squeals in... Excitement. Or joy? I don't know. I know that that wasn't fear for sure. He dances onto the stage and goes in front of the microphone.

"Yay! Hi everyone! I'm so glad!" my. Jaw. Drops. What did he just say? He grabs Desaree's hand and kisses it.

"How nice!" Desaree says. Probably just to annoy us. I can't believe that she will be my mentor now too. Wonderful!

Then the boy, Brandon, grabs my hand and shakes it firmly and fast. He grabs it too tight, it still hurts from the boiling water. "Very nice to meet you, Paiton, and I'm sorry I'll have to kill you!"

What? Slightly insane, I see. Despite the stupid personality he has, he kinda looks like me. Brown hair, green eyes, freckles. I just happen to have an actual chance of coming back.

Suddenly a peacekeeper comes and shoves us into the Justice Building for good-byes.

…

I am rushed into a dark room with one small window and one leather couch. I sit down and wait for my first visitor.

"Paiton," Clara exclaims and runs towards me.

"Don't cry!" I order her. Now is not the time to cry. She has to be strong, for my sake.

"How could this happen?" my mother trails off. She looks a lot like me, to be precise, I look a lot like her. I've seen pictures of her when she was young. I am her copy, and Clara will be too one day.

"Doesn't matter now anymore. If it happened then it happened."

"What are you saying, sweety?" my dad asks. He, respectively, has given his looks to Ethan. Which brings up a whole new question.

"Where is Ethan?" I ask and look around the room. "He will come, right?"

"He said that he wants to _mentor_ you," Clara says. Obviously he will give me a good prep talk about the games. Something our parents would not like to hear.

"Oh, I see," I frown a bit.

"Stay away from danger there," dad says as he puts his hand on my shoulder, "don't let anyone hurt you. Your district believes in you."

"Staying away from danger will be interesting there. I'll try."

"And please don't get into an alliance with your district partner. He seems a little unstable," and as my mom is a doctor, I believe her. He does seem a little unstable.

I look at Clara as she is doing something with her hair. She had her hair straight down her back this year. Only a small pink bow in them, "Take this. As your token. May it remind you of me. That I will be waiting for you to come back to me."

I take the hair bow and put it in my own hair, "Thank you. And don't worry! I will come back!"

"Promise?" my mom steps in.

"Of course!" I try to assure her. I actually think I will do that. Come back. I know I can do this.

Another peacekeeper rushes in, "Time's up! Everybody out," he takes Clara by her hand, because she has cramped into me and doesn't let me go.

"No. No!" Clara starts to scream. I hug her quickly, then I hug mom and dad, "Paiton! No!"

I look up at the peacekeeper with pleading eyes and he releases Clara for a split second. She then grabs me and the peacekeeper grabs her again.

My dad comes by the peacekeeper, "I will take care of her!"

He releases her again, "Out, now!"

"We love you, sweety!" my mom says as quick as possible as another peacekeeper leads her out of the room.

"Paiton, please!" Clara is crying her eyes out now. It's so hard to see her like this. My dad picks her up and carries out the door.

"Clarissa, just don't cry!" the door closes behind them and all I can hear is Clara's screams and cries.

"Paiton!" she manages to cry out again before I can't hear them anymore. I turn around to face the window, then close my eyes. This. All of what just happened. These are the things that will draw me back home.

Not only this silly little ribbon will be my token. The scene what just happened before my eyes will keep me remembering why I am not giving up. Just to see Clarissa with a smile one her face one more time would be enough. This memory will be my second token.

I mean, they are supposed to remind us about home. And that will be more helpful than the little bow. _Now don't cry, Paiton!_ I have to remind that to myself. Again and again.

A sudden voice disturbs me from my thoughts, "Five minutes."

I turn around to find my brother, his arms opened up for a hug, "Ethan?" I manage to whisper out. Without a second thought I hug him. Clara said, that he will mentor me.

"Shh.. shh. We only have five minutes. So let's make it quick. I will give you some advice."

"I know. Clara said that-"

"Paiton, listen! This won't be a usual advice. Like find shelter, stay out of trouble. No," I frown a bit. What else could he possibly say? "Turn around and tell me what you see through that window!"

I turn around, just like before. People are leaving the square, "People?"

"No! Well, yes. Your people. Your district. You are representing them now! That little boy will only be another matter to get laughed at. He will do no good. But you will. Are you good at something?" Ethan suddenly turns me around and grabs me by my shoulders.

"You mean am I good with a weapon? Scythe maybe. I've been using it few times when our class went to the fields," every month we have to go and work few hours in the wheat fields. Since some of the students use a scythe almost every day they usually give it to people who have no other chance of using it another time. Like me, they mayors kids and some other few kids.

"Great use it! And remember. It's kill or get killed. No one will judge you if you will kill someone."

"So I should just go out there and kill?" I ask in a high pitched voice.

"What did you expect? No one can win with out that. Even if you manage to hide all the time, there will be a final two. Someone will be looking for you, ready to fight you."

"Okay, I get it. I'll do what I need to do," I look away. I know what I am capable of, but it's still wrong.

"Time's up!" ugh! I am so sick of those peacekeepers! I turn around and hug Ethan as strong as possible.

"Remember, no regrets!" he stretches his hand for me and I grab it for a split second. Then the door is shut between us. He will see me after this, but I won't see him until the end of the games.

He will be a peacekeeper now. Splitting people us next year. I.. I just... I just have to make him proud. Proud of me. Of my victory.

I hear the door slowly creak open. I, just as slowly, turn around. Anthony is standing by the doors, his eyes staring down at the carpet.

"Anthony?" I try to catch his attention.

"There isn't much time. Just, don't hit me, okay?" he gives me a heart breaking smile. But what does he mean?

My unspoken question is answered in two seconds. Anthony comes by me with three big steps. He takes my face in his hands and looks deeply in my eyes. A small strand of my hair has fallen on my forehead. He brushes it away with his right thumb.

I don't need to be told to know what is going to happen now.

Anthony gently kisses me. This is moment that I will keep with me as long as I can, "Sorry," Anthony apologizes and turns away.

"Don't be!" I turn him around and briefly kiss him. He then hugs me, I put my head on his chest, "Why now?"

"It just seemed like the right time, don't you think?"

"Yes, it does," I bury my face in his chest, then look up at him, "I just wish we would have more than three minutes."

"So do I. So do I."

I don't know for how long we've been standing here. My arms around his waist, his arms around my shoulders. My head on his chest, while his head gently lies on the top of mine. I wouldn't mind standing here like this for hours, but the minutes pass away fast.

The doors open. We both look at the doorway where stands a peacekeeper, he obviously feels uncomfortable. And I can see why. Anthony and I share one small kiss, then he is forced away by the peacekeeper.

After a minute or two the same peacekeeper comes in and leads me away. I can't believe my friends - Rye, Amaranth, Farro, Cereali, Hay - didn't come. It's funny how all my friends have district themed names while my name is Paiton. Nothing that goes with the district. Oh well.

…

The train is so AWESOME! It's so luxurious and well made. I am starting to like this stupid Capitol shit. Slightly.

But then the whole excitement is ruined when I spot Desaree sitting farther, "Why don't you sit down, kids!" shut up!

Brandon immediately does as she said and runs at the closest couch. He looks around, then takes a knife from the table. With out hesitation he plunges the knife in the cushions.

"Whoa, easy there, Crazy Cat!" huh, that seems like a cool nickname. I should use it for him.

Brandon looks up an continues to shred cushions into little peaces of nothing. When he is done he drops the knife in front of my feet and arranges the whole mess into a some kind of a nest.

I look at Desaree who is staring at him, her mouth open, "Now, children. How about some mentoring?"

That was rather a question than a statement. I am sure she is slightly afraid of Brandon right now.

"Sure, why not," I leave Brandon alone in his _nest_ and go to sit in front of Desaree. I know for sure, this will be a horrible week!

* * *

**Brandon Heath, 12 - District 9 male**

**The Mockingjay Lives**

* * *

_"It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane." _  
_― Philip K. **, VALIS_

* * *

The early morning is quiet. Peaceful. The sun, colored like a peach, sends tendrils of orange through the gray sky, tinting the few clouds with a light apricot hue. Dew is gathered on the flowers and plants, on the grain District Nine is made to grow, and on the spiderwebs, making the thin threads glimmer with undisturbed moisture.

No sound crosses the sleeping district. Not even a mouse scuttles across the floor, as if afraid of waking children on the Reaping day.  
Until I wake up.

"It's a beautiful day," I sing, throwing off my thin blue blanket. "Good morning, everyone! Isn't it lovely? Can I go outside? When do we get dressed for the Reaping? What are we-"

"Brandon," my mother moans, covering her ears. "Some people would like to sleep in on a day they don't have to work in the fields. Tone it down or go outside!"

"Sorry, Mother," I say in an exaggerated whisper, then burst into a fit of giggles.

"Out," my father growls.

I scamper out of our tiny house, into my hidden little cave behind it. The entrance is hidden by a tangled thicket of vines and branches. Nobody else has ever found it before, except my grandfather, and they never will. I only found it because I was looking for a place to play my games in.

When I duck under the curtain of vines, I'm met with a chorus of croaks, mews, yips, and other assorted noises from my little playmates.

I approach my newest friend, a toad. He's in a cage I wove out of leftover wheat stalks. When he sees me approaching, he croaks frantically and tries to hop out of his cage.

"No, no, no, toady-woady!" I coo, reaching into his cage and pulling him out. "You don't escape from Uncle Brandon. That's just mean."  
He's in relatively good condition. I'll have a lot of time to play with him.

"Let's begin, shall we?" He struggles frantically, and tries to hide in my brown hair, but to no avail. I reach into my pocket and pull out my little knife, Mr. Pokey.

Half an hour and a whole lot of agonized croaking later, I put the toad (minus one leg and a ton of blood) back into his cage. I look at my hands and knife. They're all covered in blood. I dunk them in the bucket of water I keep in here, and exit the cave, humming cheerfully.

Yes, I torture animals for fun. My grandfather found out once and made me promise not to, but he died. I swear I didn't have anything to do with it. And I still do it, because I had my fingers crossed when I promised. That way it doesn't count.

I skip into the house, and see my parents and four year old sister Lissa awake.

"Hi! Good morning, everyone!"

"There has to be a law about not being this cheerful on Reaping day," says my mother, stirring some oats into a bowl of water for me. Lissa slides out of her chair and tugs at my hand.

"It'th twelve right now, Brandon," she lisps. "The Reaping ith at twelve thirty. Better hurry."

"Oh, don't worry," I tell her dismissively. "Always look on the bright side of life, Lissy-katrissy! Turn that frown upside down!" She rolls her eyes and hugs her ragged old teddy bear. It has patches of cloth showing through the fur, and one ear is chewed off.

"Teddy always lookth on the bright thide, but he got worn out anyway." True...

After a lovely breakfast of oatmeal that's more water than oats, we set off to the Reaping. Twelve thirty. Time to meet my doom...not! As if they'd choose someone with five slips in- one for necessity, four for tesserae. Ha, necessity and tesserae sound similar. Necesserae. Tessity.

I sign in for the first time, ignoring the prick. A little blood loss never hurt anyone, right?

I join my classmates in the twelve year old section.

"Hi, Rhyme!" I whisper. "Hi, Millet! Hi, Faith! Hi- " I am shushed by a number of voices, because the escort and mayor are on the stage now.

Desaree Lilacia is the escort. She's the funniest person I've ever seen before. Her hair is a magenta puff, and she keeps patting it, as if showing it off. I can't help giggling; Capitol people are so funny.

The mayor clears his throat, "Welcome, District Nine, to the 7th Annual Hunger Games!"

He rambles on about the Treaty of Treason, why the Hunger Games are important, and whatnot. I like that word. Whatnot, whatnot, whatnot. Whatnot! Er, sorry.

Once he is done, Desaree Lilacia beams, practically shoves him away from the microphone, and takes her place there.

"Welcome again, District Nine! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" I start to giggle again, and the people in my section give me dirty glares. Her accent...it is hilarious. When I go home after the Reaping, I'm going to practice copying it.

I'll have to hold my nose, probably. And drink water at the same time. And purse my lips together like I'm kissing someone.  
I have to bite my hand to stop a gale of laughter coming out at the thought of this.

"As usual, ladies first!" Whoa, I guess I missed her speech. "Paiton Rais!"

Nobody comes out of the crowd, "I repeat. Paiton Rais."

Finally, a girl who looks about sixteen steps out of the crowd and walks to the stage calmly. She is holding her emotions in check, obviously. I bet she's secretly scared. Ah, well. I'm sure she or the boy tribute will win the Games and get extra food for our district.

Even though we haven't had a victor yet, and our mentor will be Desaree Lilacia, I just know this year will be lucky.

Something weird starts to happen. The crowd starts to cheer as Paiton mounts the stage. Now, I'm all for support, and I join in the applause, but this isn't a Career district. This hasn't happened before.

Either they want to show that they believe in her, or they are glad she might die, and I'm thinking it's the latter, judging by the suppressed fire in Paiton's eyes.

"What a lovely girl!" Desaree says. "Does anyone here want the chance to take her place?" Nobody volunteers, which isn't surprising. No volunteers have been from District Nine yet.

"Well then, onto the boys." Hmm, I wonder who it will be. Maybe one of my classmates, Millet or Rhyme. I'd try to sponsor them, and I'm sure they'd win.

"And this lucky boy will be...Brandon Heath!"

No way.

Me?

Yippee! Yes! Awesome! Splendid! Amazing! I get to go into the Hunger Games, cut everyone into little pieces, win, and come home with fame and fortune! Luck was on my side today!

I squeal with excitement, and dance out into the middle of the town square.

"Yay! Hi everyone! I'm so glad!" I dance up to the stage, where Desaree and Paiton are standing still, shocked.

I grab Desaree's hand and kiss it, in the manner of a noble knight. She is too astonished to say anything, until she manages, "How nice!"

Taking Paiton's hand, I pump it vigorously up and down. She winces a bit.

"Very nice to meet you, Paiton, and I'm sorry I'll have to kill you," I tell her.

I'm escorted into the Justice Building to say goodbye. Why should I even bother? I'll see them again in a few weeks.

In the lovely, velvety room, my parents and Lissa enter. Or should I say, burst through the door, almost tearing it off its hinges.

"Oh, my baby boy. I'm so, so sorry I was cross with you today," my mother sobs, hugging me so tightly it almost strangles me.

"I love you, Brandon. I love you so much," my father chokes out. He takes my hand and squeezes it, since the rest of me is enfolded by my mother.

Lissa looks up at me solemnly, "I love you too, Brandon. Pleath come home."

I'm puzzled. Why are they acting like it's not a fact that I'll win? There's no chance I'll lose. If they take away Mr. Pokey, I'll just get a better knife (sorry, Mr. Pokey).

"Don't worry, I'll win," I tell them. "You don't have to cry."

My father shakes his head bemusedly.

"Brandon, are you insane or just overconfident?"

"Yes."

I giggle at his expression. Lissa hands me her teddy bear.

"You can have Teddy in the arena, Brandon. For your token."

"I'll be sure to return him when I get back."

The peacekeepers take them away, while they yell and fight to get back to me.

I don't understand what all the fuss is about. Obviously I'm going to win.


	10. District 10

**Imogene Guthrie, 15 - District 10 female**

**Nrrrd-Grrrl-Meg**

* * *

"_Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life, but define yourself." - Harvey Fierstien_

* * *

It is so unbearable, really. The grunts, the pet-names, the secrets released in the dead of night. A different face, a different tone, a different personality for each one. They each had their own quirks that made them stand out in their own way each more vile and revolting than the next. From my spot in the corner of my dirt floor room, I can witness it all, all of the benefit of one person. Me.

My mother sleeps with dirty old men to keep me alive.

The Mayor likes her to talk dirty to him, like _he _is the peasant and she is the one in control. Willie Jeffers, owner of Jeffers Livestock, wants to leave marks on her, to brand her like one of his cattle. But worse still, by leaps and bounds, is Peacekeeper Carrion. He needs an audience when he performs, much like a seal needs praise before it eats a fish. I am that audience and for now, I am a non-participating audience member in his sexual games. For now. I pray that it stays that way.

As I try not to vomit all over myself, he ruffles my bed-ratted hair and slides his hand under my chin, forcing me to stare deep into his seedy brown eyes.

"Just as beautiful as your whore of a mother," he compliments me, making me shutter. "One day, you will be _my _little who-"

"I'd rather be dead," I spat at him, my words like venomous daggers.

"You bitch!" His hand is quick and it stings my face, but my fist is nearly as quick, catching him off guard as it connects with his chin. "I will have your hide for this! When Head Peacekeeper Verona hears about this-"

My mother jumps in at just the right time, catching his hand before it could connect again with my face. "I'm sorry, Carrion, I'm sorry. She's just a child and the next session...next one is..."

"Free. And I want want her tamed, not acting like some wild animal." The glint in his eyes rocks me to my core. "Unlike the ones that you are with, I don't like the women I am with to leave behind a calling card."

I wanted to hit him again, to feel the rush of adrenaline as my knuckles connect with his face and watch as that spot grows crimson in color. To know that it is I that left that mark, since he has been leaving his marks on my insides for years. The little words he coos at me before leaving in the dead of night, the eyes that stare through me like a piece of cattle cooked just for him. I guess that makes me his veal.

As a vegetarian, I shutter at the thought.

"Just don't hurt her, Carrion," she begged, her voice shaking. "Please."

Much to my relief, he does what she asked of him. Instead of striking me one more time, he throws his money onto the bed and slams his way out of our home, his pants still around his ankles. Once his form is gone from our sight, my mother snatched up the money he tossed her way and patted the space next to her in the bed. Like a child, I bolt up from my spot on the floor and throw myself into her arms, finding comfort and solace in her warm embrace. She pushes my crimson locks out of my face and kisses my forehead and for just a little while, the world wasn't a terrible place. Life, as I know it, was grand.

But, as the old saying in District Ten goes, 'Even in the most beautiful of fields you can find cow shit'.

The beauty in my cow shit, so to speak, is my mother. Valentina Guthrie; the child beauty turned teen mother thanks to someone with authority, a Peacekeeper, perchance. She has never spoken of my conception, at least, not to me, but that is what I believed to be the answer. Or, maybe, she really doesn't know and that is all the more sad. Not for me, as I could care less, but for her. Maybe had she known or kept in touch with him, she wouldn't have nights like this, forced to sell herself to the highest bidder to men that aren't worthy to touch her. Which makes me feel all the worse, since I know she does this all for me.

"We can afford something more filling than cabbage soup for tonight," she said, kissing my forehead like she did when I was just a child. "Maybe some cheese and bread."

"And some chocolate and imported rolls from another district," I added, letting my mind wander and my mouth drool. "And some mint for your tea."

"Fresh fruit from Eleven and grain to make our own bread from Nine."

"Or, we can make some cabbage soup and you can save it for the next time we are low on cash?" My words sting as they exit my mouth, the thought of my mother repeating tonight's little romp but without payment invading my mind. "I mean, it's not like we'll see money like this any time soon."

She grows quite, her face contorted in sadness. It breaks my heart.

"Mama?"

Her eyes are brimming with tears, but she blinks them away. "What, baby?"

"Live it up," I whisper, a grin sliding across my face. "We can worry about tomorrow's problems when they come."

Her laugh is infectious, filling me with a joy I haven't felt in a long time. On a day like today, laughter is a luxury people like us aren't afforded. We are on the lowest totem pole in the Livestock District, below the cattle ranchers and the milkmaids, below the orphans and the drunks my mother serves in the bar below us. On the nights my mother doesn't get enough tips for dinner, we go to bed hungry. At worse, we don't even have cabbage broth the tide us over. Tessera gives us hope, but it isn't enough to keep us going all month long. Times have been hard lately, with less and less drunks leaving behind big, big tips for us to live off of, so if I see a chance to see my mother smile, I am taking it. After all...

She deserves it.

District Ten's Reapings are later in the day, thanks to everyone in the Capitol clamoring for a chance to see the brutes from One, Two, and Four and refusing to wait a minute longer than possible. Those tributes are, what has been dubbed by most _The Careers,_ the ones that seem like they've waited all their lives for this, yet have 'received no special treatment'. Yeah, and I'm President Cross's long lost daughter! We get to wait longer to find out who is going to be the next to die for the sins of our parents. What they don't know is that I suffer the sins of my mother, just as she suffers for the sin of my existence. It is a vicious cycle that we must make our way through if we are to survive this new Panem.

By the time the sun begins to rise, I give up any thought of getting sleep. My stomach is in knots; both Carrion's threats and my potential death looming ahead of me, making my life seem as though it is no longer in my control. Am I fated to fall into the hands of a sexual deviant or dying at the end of another child's sword? Or, do I make my own fate?

Any way I spin it, I'm pretty well fucked.

Without making a sound, I grab my Reaping outfit (nothing more than a simple white shirt and brown skirt) and make my way to the billowing creek only a quarter of a mile behind the two-floor shack that doubles as both my mother's place of business and our home. In the swirling light of pinks and oranges, I slip out of my bedclothes and dip my body slowly into the warm and gentle water. The dirt of yesterday drifted off of my body and flowed down with the current, taking with it the shame of what I witnessed, as well as my stress. Usually, this is something I save for the cover of night, as I am not one to parade around nude, but Carrion couldn't exactly _perform_ without my olive green eyes watching his every move, I couldn't exactly leave my home to do this. Knowing my luck, he would have followed me.

Whispers and laughter break through the serenity, bringing me crashing down to reality. With one quick move, I am out of the water and using my nightshirt to cover myself up.

"Well, look who we have here, boys..." The voice is sing-songy and a little high pitched, belonging to only one person; Chester, son of the Peacekeeper that is trying to get his mitts on me.

"Don't cover yourself up just yet, princess!" The second voice is huskier, belonging to the Mayor's piggy of a son, Flint.

The laughter grows closer and louder before the four boys make their way from the cover of the trees and descend on me. Exactly what I needed at this point in time. Between Chester and Flint are their sidekicks, Russ and Rig Wrangler, sons of a local Cattle Rancher and one of the many drunks I see on a nightly basis. Hell, I'd drink my life away too, if I created little shits like those two. On their own, they are pansies, nothing I can't handle. But they are in a group and I am sans clothing, so this isn't exactly looking like the odds will be in my favor.

"Drop the shirt beautiful," Rig taunted, trying to make a play for the only thing keeping my body from being on display.

"Give us a little show!" Russ followed up, coming closer than his twin and succeeding in pinning me against a tree. "Chester, she's shy!"

The twins backed off, letting their leader take their place. For a child that has never known hunger like I have, he is scrawny and tall, having almost a full head over me and his limbs are thin and lanky. His nostrils flare, making his freckles seem like they are dancing across his face and his crooked grin shows off his cracked and yellow-tinted teeth. His breath was hot and smelled of a food I had never the luxury of tasting and it lingered as he drug his nose up my neck and placed it by my ear.

"My father wants you for himself," he whispers softly, not letting even his lackeys hear. "But I want to beat him to the punch."

"I'm not a trophy to be passed around," I reply, turning my head away from him. "And your father will not have me."

As his eyes grow wide at my words, I take advantage of the situation and bring up my knee, catching him between the legs and dropping him down to my height before I follow it up with a forearm to the nose, breaking it wide open. He lets out a mangled cry before falling over completely, which finally wakes up the rest of them and they start on me. Flint's meaty hand comes at my throat, pinning against the tree and it takes everything in me to keep a hold of the nightshirt and the little dignity I still have left. Instinct and adrenaline kicked in, using my free hand to swing wildly at Flint until the last blow catches him in the chin and gets him to loosen his grip and I slammed myself into him, knocking him onto his back like a turtle.

The Wranglers come at me as pair, catching me off-guard and sending me retreating backwards, as to not show them my back end, until I hit something sturdy. When it moans slightly, I realize that it's a person, not another tree, and I'm worse off than I was before.

"Back off of her boys, she's with me."

Rex. Of all the people...

Russ and Rig grab their counterparts and make a hasty exit, but not without sharing some empty threats with no one in particular. Behind me, I can almost feel Rex grinning like a madman, knowing that he didn't have to lift a finger to send those guys packing. Meanwhile, my arm and hand are killing me and my nightshirt is left a tattered mess and _he_ gets all the credit for it. Nice.

"I wasn't looking, I promise," he stammered out and from the sound of his voice, I can tell his face is as crimson as my hair. "Why don't you go get your clothes on before they regroup and try to come back?"

Without saying a word, I do exactly that and rejoin him by the tree that I was once pinned against. His eyes can barely meet my own, but I can still see a sense of humility and shame in those brown pools. If I was a normal girl in this district, I would have swooned. Thanks to men like Carrion and the others that find their way into my mother's bedroom, I am not what one would call _normal._

"I had it, you know," I sputtered out, lowering my own eyes, but staring at my knuckles that were starting to swell. "I've handled them before."

His smile never wavers and his eyes glance up at my own. "A 'Thank You' is usually warranted when someone saves your life."

He reaches his arms out to place it on my shoulder, but I cringe and pull back completely on instinct. The hurt in his eyes almost makes me feel bad, but he knows my feelings on being touched. Even if he hadn't, I wouldn't have cared anyway. Do not get me wrong, I'm not an unfeeling, heartless wench, I'm just...I'm a difficult nut to crack, I guess.

"I don't want or need your help," I respond, knowing it wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. "But thanks, I guess. Shouldn't you be with your sisters or something and not spying on me while I'm bathing?"

His hands go up defensively as his cheeks grow red once more. "Whoa...that was not on my agenda today."

Right.

"Whatever," I respond, with little effort in my voice. "I've gotta go, the Reaping can't go on with me and my twelve slips." And with that, I abandoned Rex Kingston and his hopelessly stupid grin.

At one point in time, Rex Kingston and I were friends. Good friends, actually. Then again, that's like saying that at one point in my life, I was truly happy – it is ancient history. But, alas, it doesn't change our shared past, no matter how ancient of history it is.

As a child, I had no clue what my mother had to subject herself to so that I could have food in my belly and a roof over my head. I knew her official job, swinging drinks to the lushes at _One For the Road._Hell, I knew those guys better than I knew the other kids in my class, as I sat with them every night and some even helped me with my homework. Rex had been a true friend, loyal and fun to be around. He let me be the cowboy when we played together and for to me, that was everything. I even shared Colt, my wooden horse, with him and not even my mother was allowed to touch him, as it was my only toy. The other kids would come and go, but Rex and his sisters were constants in my extremely small circle of friends.

And then, the rebellion came and failed. Life in Panem changed and with it, things became harder on my mother and her _other job_ was exposed for all to see. Soon, the children heard their father's discussing Valentina Guthrie and they were told to stay away from her daughter because she must be a chip off of the whore block. I was mocked, teased, and harassed, by both children and adults, and no amount of threats from both Rex and myself would keep them away. So, I left school and learned what I needed to know to get by in District Ten by hanging out with the men in the bar and helped my mother by briefly getting a job as a milkmaid, before being forced to quit, thanks to the owner of the ranch hitting on me and attempted to force himself on me. From then on, I refused to trust anyone except my mother, who was always there to pick of the pieces.

This meant kicking Rex and his sisters to the wayside and slowly becoming the girl that slowly walked to the Reaping with her dirty bedclothes in her hand.

Even with taking the long way to the Town Center, I was early and the first child within Reaping age to show. Smaller children, be they from large, starving families or orphans, were paid a pittance to prepare the stage that they will one day soon associate with being the portal to death, the smiles on their faces both refreshing and sad. Sad that they need to prepare other children for death just to fill their pockets with a few coins. Peacekeepers watched on, their eyes trained to find them doing something, just so they can fill themselves with the joy of watching a child suffer. Luckily for me, Carrion was no where to be seen, but someone much worse was in the middle of it all.

Head Peacekeeper Verona.

As Peacekeepers go, Verona isn't too bad. He has been in District Ten since long before my birth and rumor has it, he has given up the chance to be reassigned a flashier district since a year or two after the rebellion failed. He is strict, yet surprisingly fair. Once or twice, he even stopped a few of the boys from getting their asses handed to them by yours truly and threatened them for their jeers of myself and my mother. All of these things should make him a stand-up guy, almost on par with Rex and the guys in the bar, had it not been for one thing.

The way he stares at me.

Take this moment, for instance. Once he takes notice to me being the only of-Reaping age child in the Center, he makes eye contact, but it isn't the usual looks and gestures I am used to from the men in this place. His glare is almost sad, haunted. And then I remember the apples he has given to me over the years, the half-smiles...it's like he wants to make a connection with me, yet not in a sexual way like most of the perverted bastards around these parts. While the advances of the others refuse to leave a mark in my life, he does. _He stands out._ Why?

The square slowly fills and I am soon sucking on my pricked finger and left among the rest of the fifteen year old girls. They giggle and stare, speaking in mock whispers as though I am too stupid to hear their comments. I am not stupid, I can hear their comments. I just don't care enough to respond.

Flint the Piggy's father, Mayor Potbelly himself, or Mayor Calhoun to the rest of the District, cleared his throat and made his way to the podium. He was an older, balder, fatter (if that is humanly possible) version of his son, and one of the more disgusting clients of my mother and has a flat, monotone voice that makes each Reaping that much more unbearable. Finally, he introduces Synthe Brickette, our escort since day one, a rather relaxed and mellow man, compared to the others I have seen during Reaping recaps on the television over the past few years.

"Welcome, welcome District Ten to the Seventh Annual HUNGER GAMES!" His uppity, Capitol accent-heavy voice is a surprising lovely departure from Mayor Potbelly. "Now, as you well know by now, it is time to select the lucky boy and girl that will come with me to the Capitol and represent us all in this years Games!"

Joy.

With his long, dancers legs, which are covered in indigo colored leather chaps and topped by a pastel flannel, he glides his way to the girl's bowl. The tension in the air is thick and almost chokes me as the perfectly folded white slip of paper is plucked from the safety of the bowl.

"Why, the lovely young lady with a chance at becoming your first victory is..."

The suspense...it's the suspense that kills me every year.

"IMOGENE GUTHRIE!"

Over the murmurs and the laughter, I can hear a scream that without a doubt in my mind belongs to my mother. The girls around me quickly back away from me, as though we are playing a real-life game of Plague Person (a favorite of ours once, when I was just a child at play), which draws the attention of every camera in the square. With fists clenched and a glint in my eye, I march my way to the stage. They want a sobbing little girl, a Bloodbather waiting to happen.

I am no such girl.

As I look out among the people of District Ten that I will never see again, it is Carrion's gaze that my eyes find first, the look on his face is one of amusement. Now I know who to thank for being up here, especially since my lonely twelve slips of paper among thousands hardly make for the odds to be against me in such a way. I smirk in his direction, my face saying what my mind is screaming.

You won't get the chance to touch me!

Thanks to my staring contest with the biggest bastard in all of Panem, I missed the second name called by Synthe the Clown. However, the same reaction I was given (minus the laughter and mutterings) happens in the sixteen year old's section.

Rex.

No.

This can't be happening.

He is from the middle class, not poor, nor rich, with probably no tessera to speak of, and yet, he makes his way to the stage with a sense of poise and grace that he usually presents us all with. His sisters are sobbing, I can hear them over the crowd, over the heavy beating of my heart. He is his parents only son and the protector of those in trouble, a hero to his sisters, especially little Aelita. I can see her now, hysterically clinging to her mother, who is trying to hold it together for her baby. The heart I didn't think I actually had anymore breaks.

If I am to make it back to my mother, their big brother needs to meet his end.

Rex smiles sheepishly at me as he shakes my hand, which only makes this harder on me. The Treaty of Treason makes for the perfect backdrop as we stare at each other, the fight of this morning still fresh in our minds, as is our childhood together in the fields of golden green grass and fresh prairie air. He protected me back then, attempted to shield me from their harsh words and grabby fingers. The scars still made their way to my body and soul, but less so, thanks to Rex. And now, thanks to our need for freedom and vengeance, we are forced in the Hunger Games where only one or none of us can hope to return.

The Justice Building is a departure from the plains and fields and animals of Ten, filled with lavish décor and plush interior. For some reason, I half-expected a leather couch like I've seen the tributes sit on while being interviewed by the amazing Kleon Gradizean, but was greeted instead with a velvet one that most have made its way from Eight. I can't help but notice how much the color matches that of Scynthe's pants, but before I can laugh the door distracts me.

"Imogene!"

My mother, her face aged since I last saw her this morning, her eyes red from the tears that stream down her cheeks.

"MAMA!" Her arms are like a shelter that I never want to leave. "Carrion...he'll hurt you if I'm not here!"

She snaps back, her eyes now red from the fire growing inside of her. "Don't you dare worry about me out here when you are forced to fight for their entertainment! You focus on coming back to me, my sweet angel."

The kiss she plants on my forehead brings tears that pepper my eyes and cloud my vision. I blink them away, refusing to have my last images of my mother ruined by something as trivial as tears.

"You are a fighter, my girl," she continued. "No matter what this life throws at you, you refuse to change who you are. Do not let them change you. You can fight, you can win this. Your fists are deadly, promise me you won't go down without a fight."

"I promise Mama," I reassured her, my voice unshaken. "I will win this and take you away from those perverted men."

She pushes Colt into my hand and kisses me one last time. "That's my girl!"

A Peacekeeper, one I don't recognize, pulls her off of me and like a quick change in the wind, she is gone from my life forever. I fall on to the couch, trying my hardest to remember every inch of the woman who gave me life and so much more, but I am interrupted by the door opening up once more.

Aelita Kingston, age eight years.

"Please...please don't let my brother die," she stammers, her eyes never meeting my own green ones. "He's my hero, Ms. Guthrie."

The waver in her voice, matched with the tears that fell onto her chubby baby-like cheeks, it was too much for me. Any walls I had built up around me feelings broke and I found myself sobbing into the shoulder of the little girl who's brother I might before forced to murder for my own survival. Moments pass, nothing is said and nothing needs to be said. I can't come back if it means Aelita growing up with her big brother.

I'm sorry Mama, but I might have to break my promise.

The sound of her cries drown out the sound of the door creaking open and it isn't until she is ripped from my arms like a rag doll and thrown from the room with a thud. The tree trunk-like arms I recognize right away as belonging to only one man.

Carrion.

"You think you can leave me?" He advances on me, his voice pounding in my ears. For the first time since he entered my life, I am legitimately afraid for my life. "You think you can't get away with what you did without some sort of repercussion?"

His hand is around my neck, quite the same way his own son's was just a few hours ago. The irony would have crossed my mind, had I not been fighting for my life against this crazed and brutal man.

"Right here, right now, I will get what is owed to me!" His free hand goes for the buckle of his pants and my fists find his arms, but do little to quell his actions. "So pretty...just like your mommy."

As gravity takes his pants and his mouth forces itself onto my own, the lack of oxygen begins to have its side effects kick in. My vision blurs, my mind races for an answer to my predicament. His hand fights with my top, tearing it just enough to ruin it for good and I lose the war against reality.

This is it. I am not going to die in these games while my mother watches. Carrion is doing the job the Capitol is supposed to have.

The world around me begins to fade away, with his hands going for my skirt and the door to the Goodbye Room slamming open. I recognize the voice the demands my release, yet I have no power to put a face to it. Instead, I let the damage done by this man take effect and I slip into the unknown.

I'm sorry, Mama...

* * *

**Rex Kingston, 16 - District 10 male**

**Sixty9ing Chipmunks**

* * *

The oranges and pinks that accompany the nearly perfect sunrise begin to trickle their way into the windows of the slaughterhouse, which brings with it light that brightens the dark task at hand. With my club firmly in my hand, I close my eyes and mutter an empty apology as I bring down my wooden death stick, splattering the back of the pig's head, covering my once white apron with scarlet liquid. At one point in time, he was dubbed Sancho the Pig, but now that he has passed on into the hereafter, I hurl his carcass onto the conveyer belt and start onto the next one. It is difficult not to think of these animals as the piggies that my sisters helped to raise and fatten up, to shift my thoughts to anything else but. Sometimes, it's a bully that's been picking on my little sister Aelita, other times it's a Peacekeeper. When I am feeling particularly daring, it's President Cross himself and it's in that moment that the club comes down a little harder, that the head snaps forward like a twig under my boot. It's in those moments that I force myself to take a step back and pull the pieces of my shattered humanity back together.

Do not think of me as a monster, for I am the furthest thing from it. In District Ten, there are very few ways to get by in life and one of them is to work for the slaughterhouses that plump up those flamboyant bastards from the Capitol and bring just a little extra meat to my family's plate. As long as my sisters are fed and my father doesn't have to kill himself by working twelve-hour days as a Cattle Rancher, then I can live with the horrors of my work. For my sisters, I will do anything.

"Rex, my boy!"

The voice belonged to one Mr. Jorge Galloway, the night manager of the slaughterhouse and once a high-ranking member of the rebellion that brought upon us the Hunger Games that I am trying to avoid today. He's a sturdy, strong man, with a salt and pepper beard and hair that is just beginning to thin out and, more importantly, the reason why my family has been able to get by for the past few years.

"Yes, Mr. Galloway?" I respond, tossing the last remaining pig onto the belt and watching it slowly fad from sight.

With a smile on his face, he hands me a satchel, specially designed to keep meats fresh for deliveries on foot. This is a bit on the strange side, as I haven't done a delivery since I changed my hours from day shift to night. No one else is awake at this hour, except for the drunks that are performing the drunken stumble home and the idiots like myself and Mr. Galloway, that love working under the light of the stars.

"That is a little something extra for your post-reaping dinner tonight," he states, as if this was no big deal. "Just a little 'thank you' for a job well done."

With eyes wide, I open the flap to the satchel and find several pounds of fresh cut bull and chicken meat, enough to last my family for a week and eliminating a need for my father to take overtime this week. Tears attempt to pepper my eyes, but I sniff them away.

"Mr. Galloway, sir...I can't take this," I stammer out, handing him back the satchel.

He shook his head and crossed his arms, as to block his hands from behind handed the bag back. "Just return the satchel after the Reaping so Diego can take use it to deliver the Mayor his prime beef cuts."

I fight the urge to hug him and instead, offer him my hand. "Thank you! Thank you so much, sir!"

"It's nothing, my boy," he answered, his face beaming with pride. "I owe you more than that. Business has boomed since you took the night shift. Now, run along and get yourself presentable for the Reaping." His voice grows cold at the end, knowing that I'm not the only one that has to chance to be Reaped today. "You're name is only in the bowl five times, if memory serves, so the odds are not exactly against you today."

He was right about that. Thanks to this job, neither myself, nor my two sisters, Sunny and Spring, have to take tessera and add our name into the Reaping bowl any more than just the allotted slips. However, we all know this means nothing, as just last year the Mayor's youngest daughter, Samara was Reaped and her name was only in the bowl once. She met her end quickly and painfully at the end of the victor's spear during the opening moments of the Bloodbath. I still remember her pale, chubby cheeks as they became sprayed with her own blood, much like that of the pig who's brains liter my feet.

The walk to my family home is a lovely one that takes me over the little creek and around the back end of the local bar, One For The Road. It takes everything in me not to stop and knock on the side entrance door, the one I know for a fact leads to the rooms above the bar. The steps that lead to Imogene Guthrie.

No. She can't see you like this, still reeking of slaughtered animals that once slept in your sister's bed. She's a vegetarian, for crying out loud! Plus, she hasn't even made eye contact with me in years, not since her mother's secret was exposed for all to see and her life was turned upside down. And while I was more than happy to make those that mocked her lives miserable, it wasn't enough to quell the violence and taunting that became her everyday life. In the end, she shut out everyone with the exception of her mother and put up walls around her so thick, that she can barely breathe behind them. So now, I keep my distance and my eyes open.

"Don't cover yourself up just yet, princess!"

I know that voice. Flint Calhoun, the plump son of the mayor and once older brother of Samara. If he is calling someone princess...

Imogene!

By the time they came into view, Peacekeeper Carrion's son was on the ground, his nose splattered across his face and the piglet himself, Flint, was sprawled out next to him. Imogene had her back to me, which was left open for the whole world to see (and, if I am to be honest, it was quite the view!) and the Wrangler twins were advancing on her. Before I had a chance to think things through, I found myself standing behind her and she bumped clear into me, while the twins' eyes grew wide.

"Back off of her boys, she's with me."

No one said a word as they tucked their collective tails between their legs and I couldn't help but smile. The damage done by one tiny girl was nothing short of amazing. I guess growing up the way she did, it transforms you into a fighter. She's gotten better at it since the last time I saw her use her hands on someone, I'll tell you that.

My eyes made their way down and I was reminded of how very naked she was, with the exception being the torn nightshirt she used to cover her front.

"I wasn't looking, I promise!" I stammered out, my cheeks turning hot. "Why don't you go get your clothes on before they regroup and try to come back?"

It takes everything in me not to watch her as she goes behind the tree she was once pinned to and put herself back together. With her luscious crimson locks and large olive eyes, she was a beauty fit for the Luxury District, not for the district of cow dung and pigs blood. She would be a prize for any man that was lucky enough to snatch her up, had the world not ruined her already. Within moments, she joins me, wearing a simple brown skirt that flows down to her knee and a white shirt. Nothing special and it suits her, she doesn't need a lot of glam to catch your eye.

"I had it, you know," she spits, her words like daggers. "I've handled them before."

I smile and my gaze meets hers. "A 'Thank You' is usually warranted when you save someone's life."

Without thinking, I attempt to place my hand sympathetically on her shoulder, but she recoils away as if I was made of fire. My heart shattered worse than Chester's nose and yet, I could tell she didn't really care about hurting my feelings. Part of me wanted to say something, but I knew exactly why she is the way that she is. Instead, I'll just hate the monsters that made her this way.

"I don't want or need you help," her words, once again, hitting me hard. "But thanks, I guess. Shouldn't you be with your sisters or something and not spying on me while I'm bathing?"

My hands shoot up, going on the defense as my cheeks grow red once more. "Whoa, that was not on my agenda today."

"Whatever," she response, her voice flat. "I've gotta go, the reaping can't go on without me and my twelve slips."

And like a thief in the night, she is gone and I'm left half a person. Just once, I'd love for it to be the way it once was; us playing in the backfields of the slaughterhouse I now work at, her letting me use that stupid wooden horse of hers that she never let anyone touch, sharing awkward glances as we grew older and knew what our friendship might one day turn into. For now, I am stuck with the ghost of what once was and praying for the chance to make it alright.

The rest of my walk home is uneventful, which was peachy by me. The woods gave way to a small farming community, with small fields littered every so often with a reasonable-sized home. They weren't much, especially compared with some of the houses I once delivered meat to, but it was the place my family grew up and to me, that's all that matters.

"REXY! REXY!"

Running at the speed of a mad bull, Aelita leaps into my arms and knocks me to the ground. Her dark locks mimic my own, but are pulled into tight pigtails that flow down to her shoulders, her grin missing a few teeth. Out of everything in my life, she is my absolute favorite.

"LITA! LITA!" I mimic, giving her a kiss on her pudgy cheek. "Where is everyone?"

"Papa's at the ranch and Mama is making the twins get ready for the reading."

"REAPING, Aelita," I correct her, tussling her hair. "Reaping. Someone I pray you will never have to worry about."

"OK," she shrugged, before noticing a wondering chicken and chased off after it.

Unlike most houses in our section, ours has three floors, which gives everyone their own space when needed. At the top of the house, in what was once a storage room, is my tiny abode, with just enough room for a bed and small chest with my work clothes and Reaping outfit. My window overlooks the woods I just made my way out of, which is a nice view on nights when I'm not working. Below me is the room that my three sisters share and is the largest in the house, as they have to fit three beds and chests in it, as well as a desk for school work. Next to them is my parents room, which to me, isn't enough for them, as they deserve the best for everything they've done for us. However, the door I enter leads to the large kitchen area, big enough for a large table and stove and topped off with a small refrigeration unit that Mr. Galloway was able to get for us not long after I started working for him. Standing at the sink, cleaning the dishes from yet another tasty breakfast, was my mother, Dawn. After three kids and a failed rebellion, she is still a beauty, with her dark blonde hair and large green eyes, the same that my twin sisters share.

"Who wants fresh meat for our after-reaping supper?" I exclaim, my voice echoing through the house. "Bull and chicken, fresh from Mr. Galloway to us Kingston's!"

She gasped as she saw the contents of my satchel. "Rex, honey, that is – that is too much for him to be sharing with us."

"I tried to tell him that, Mama, honest!" I placed the bag on the table and gave her a hug. "The bag just has to go back after the reaping."

She nodded as I pulled away. "Speaking of which, if you aren't ready to leave in fifteen minutes, we'll all be late for it."

Skipping every other step, I launched myself up both stairways until I was safely in my bedroom. I guess getting a bath myself is out of the question, so I tossed on my nicest pair of slacks and a blue top before barreling back downstairs in time to grab an apple and head out the door with Sunny and Spring in tow. Before long, we are off to the town square and left in our respective pens, slowly dying of boredom, thanks to Mayor Calhoun's lovely speaking voice. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he released Synthe Brickette, our colorful (to say the least) escort.

"Welcome, welcome District Ten to the Seventh Annual HUNGER GAMES!" His voice was dripping with a Capitol Accent to the point that you can barely understand what he said, but the gist of it was there. "Now, as you all well know by now, it is time to select the lucky boy and girl that will come with me to the Capitol and represent us all in this years games!"

His long legs, which were tastefully covered in indigo colored leather chaps and topped with a pastel colored flannel, danced their way towards the girls bowl. With a few moves, my life was changed. As I beg for the odds not to be against my twin sisters, nor Marlene Jones, the girl I grew up with, her name is called.

"Imogene Guthrie!"

Small pouts of laughter and mutterings erupted around me, but they didn't begin to register until I saw her walking towards the stage, her hair was a dead giveaway among the usually darker-haired farmer children. I even faintly catch a scream that has to belong to Imogene's mother. It takes everything in me to right this injustice, to make everything all better again. My fists, clenched and shaking, begin to turn white as the next name is called. It isn't until Ross Fox's eyes go glassy that I realized who was called.

Me.

Rex Kingston.

Forced to fight to the death or left to die. Forced to live while the girl I spent my life protecting dies.

Knowing that every camera in the district is trained on me, not to mention the fact that my sisters and parents are going to be coming unglued, I release my fists and walk towards the stage, leaving behind everything I've ever known. Inside, I am dying, my heart is slipping down into the bowels of my stomach, but for Imogene and my family, I wear a smile. The thought of letting any of them down weighing heavily on my chest, as well as the thought of never coming home again. With a sweaty palm, I shook the hand of the girl I once called friend.

We are soon whisked away to, the Justice Building and shoved into separate rooms, where I am quickly joined by Marlene Jones and Ross Fox.

"Come back, Rex," Marlene cried, her arms tight around me. "Do whatever it takes and just come back."

Ross, a quieter, usually unemotional boy, had tears rolling down his cheeks as he pulled Marlene away and wrapped his arms around me. "Make allies, get weapons. Show those Career bastards that it's District Ten's year to shine!"

"I'll do my best," was all I could muster up.

They are quickly replaced by the twins, that are already sobbing their little hearts out. Just knowing that they are safe for one more year is all that matters to me.

"You can't leave us, Rex," Sunny begged, her arms entangled in my legs, refusing to let me leave that spot. "You just can't!"

"Please! Please, please, PLEASE, don't go!" Spring followed, her cries echoing in my ears. It takes everything in me not to join in their cries, but I had to play my role as the big brother for just a little longer.

"I have to go, I'm so sorry," I whispered, unable to work up the nerve to speak.

"We can hide you!"

"Don't go!"

Kicking and screaming, they are forced to leave by Peacekeepers.

Little Aelita came in alone, her face pale and tear-stained, with is all I needed to see to let my guard down. She doesn't say a word to me, and together we sit on the velvet couch and sob, drenching each others shirts. Finally, her little voice squeaks.

"Who's gonna protect me from Wayne Pruitt now?"

Honestly, I didn't know how to answer her and I didn't. Instead, I told her that I loved her and that I would think of her every single day. That I would fight like heck to return to her, to save her from bullies and bad guy. That I would see her again one day. My parents came in and let her go into the hallway with the twins.

"You can do this, son," my father began, patting me on the shoulder. Jacob Kingston is usually a man of few words. "Use all you have learned at the slaughterhouse and think of the others as just little piggies. I know this is easier said than done, but you have to come back home to us. I love you, son."

"I love you too, Papa!"

My mom grabbed me and held me close, her tears joining my own and Aelita's on my shirt,"I know you, Rex Kingston. You will try to protect everyone, to save everyone. It is the hero complex that lives inside of you. Please...don't do it. Save yourself and only you, you promise me?"

How do I make a promise like that? Well, you tell her what you want to hear. "I promise, Mama. I love you!"

"I love you too, my baby boy."

With a swoop of the door, they are gone from me and I am drug into the hallway and towards a backdoor. Frantically, I search for Imogene, but there seemed to be a commotion from around her door. A Peacekeeper, Pius I believe he is called, was dragging Carrion out of her room while he kicked and screamed, while Verona emerged with Imogene limp in his arms.

"NO! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?"

The Peacekeeper that led me away suddenly grabbed from around my waist and fought with everything inside of himself to drag me away from Verona, but he was unsuccessful. Ducking down, I was able to slide out of his grasp and barreled towards him, nearly making Verona drop her. Before I have the chance to grab her out of his hands, Pius gets me again by the waist and drags me out of the Justice Building and into a separate car from Imogene. Instead, I find Pius and Scynthe in the car with me.

"What happened?" Synthe asked and I am unable to determine if his question is genuine or not, thanks to he accent and tone of his voice.

"There was an incident between Miss Guthrie and my fellow Peacekeeper," Pius stated, matter-of-factually. "Nothing to concern yourself with, she will be fine in very soon and no one will ever know," his last comment was directed towards me.

"If he hurt her-"

"You will do NOTHING!"

Surprisingly, the train station wasn't crawling with photographers and reporters, jamming microphones into my face and flashing cameras in an attempt to get something from me. Instead, it was only the same people that left the Justice Building, with Verona still carrying Imogene like a father would carry his baby. He made light work of the steps and entered the train with me close behind him. As my mouth dropped at the sight of table set before me, Verona made his way into the first door on the right and sat her down on the bed. For a brief second, I thought I saw a tear fall from his dark green eyes, but I had to of been mistaken. This is a Head Peacekeeper, we are talking about. He followed it up with a soft kiss to her sweaty forehead and for a moment, I swore I heard him tell her he was "sorry for everything".

And with that, he was gone.

"Come, come child!" Synthe exclaimed, patting the chair next to his own at the table. "We have a lot to discuss."

"Buddy...you ain't kidding."


	11. District 11

**Jennifer Mulzat, 17 - District 11 female**

**Library2.0**

* * *

"_You worthless little mooch!" I hear the familiar growl of "Dear ol' Dad." I turn around from where I'm sitting, drinking water. Even from where I'm sitting in a chair across the room from Parry Mulzat, I can smell the disgusting alcohol on him. He staggers forward, somehow on his feet even though he should be on the ground._

"_I've told you only eat and drink what I say you can!" he roars._

"_I didn't want to wait for you to get home from who knows where getting drunk on who knows what!" I snap back. I see him starting to unfasten his belt, "Go ahead. I'm not scared of a fat, drunk, old man." To show him I mean what I'm saying, I take the water I had been drinking and pour it on the ground._

_He continues to stalk towards me until he realizes I'm not backing down. He pauses for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then he puts a demented smile on his face and turns around. I don't know what he's doing, until I realize he's heading for my sister's room. I catapult out of my chair but he gets there first._

_I watch as he grabs her arm and swings the belt. It connects with her face and I hear her scream. The only thing I can do is watch as he hurts the most important thing in my life._

I snap awake as my hand reaches out to find my sister. When my fingers don't touch her, I start to freak out, until I remember where I am. Lily must have crawled into Ceol's mom's room sometime during the night. I throw off the covers of the bed _- I still can't believe I have my own bed! -_ and walk to the bathroom to brush my hair. I think about how fortunate I am to have left an abusive father and find such a great family.

I walk into the kitchen and check the clock. The reaping isn't until after lunch, so I find an apple to eat. I sit at the kitchen table and wait for someone to get up. Normally, I would be jumping out of bed and going to work at the food packing plant, but everyone's been given the day off. Unfortunately, I still have to spend a few hours at my second job in the orchards.

Lily turned twelve only a little while ago and I'm more worried about her than she is for herself; she's always been on the optimistic side, while I've been mostly on the pessimistic side

I snap out of my musings as Ceol walks into the kitchen. I've been attracted to him ever since he helped Lily and I get away from our awful dad. I know he probably doesn't think the same about me, but it's always nice to hope.

He follows my lead and takes an apple out of the cupboard. He and I eat in silence, wondering if it's our last morning in this house. He finishes before me and looks at his apple core. All of a sudden I see his arm snap and the core come flying at me. I catch it and smile at him as I throw it in the compost.

"Still have those reflexes I see. Could come in useful later," he says, a smile playing on his lips to lift the somber atmosphere.

In spite of myself, I start to smile too, "I'm not worried about me. It's Lily I'm worried about."

He snorts, "You're just overprotective. Her name's in there once. Yours is in there ten times. Chances are you'd be reaped before her."

I frown, "That doesn't help me feel any better."

"You know I'm not good at consoling."

"Because you have no worries."

"That is true."

I exaggerate a sigh, but then we both smile as Lily walks in, rubbing her eyes trying to rub the sleepiness out of them. She looks up and blinks a couple of times and sits down in the chair next to me.

She leans her head so that it's on my shoulder. I put my head on top of hers, enjoying the moment. "Are you worried?" I hear her ask.

I lie, "No. You and I will be absolutely fine."

She nods and takes a deep breath.

Ceol stands up, stretches, and says, "I told Crooz I would help down in the fields for a few hours before the reaping. I'll see you two later?"

Lily and I nod as he leaves. We stay sitting for a few minutes longer. Then I get up and push my chair in, "I've got to put in a few hours at the apple orchard. Do you want to come along?" She nods and we go to get dressed for the morning.

It's eleven thirty when we've finished our short shift in the orchards, so I turn on the television to watch some of the Reaping. That's one good thing about being in an outer District. You can watch the Reaping and see what people think about the tributes on a recap _before_ your Reaping.

We watch the District 7 and District 8 ceremonies, but when District 9 shows up, a twelve year old is reaped. I quickly turn off the television, but the damage is done and Lily and I just sit there, horrified.

Just when I think Lily will start crying, Ceol's mom comes out and asks if we won't to go shopping with her.

Lily and I jump up, ready to get away from the T.V. We follow Ceol's mom as she walks toward the market. We pass the Church where we go to Mass every Sunday, we walk by the food packing plant where I work, and by the Justice Building where a girl and boy will be whisked away to their death.

We make it to the market where Ceol's mom buys some fresh fruit and vegetables. We're lucky to be able to afford food like that. We spend the rest of the time wandering around, talking to different people and wishing them luck. We finally head back home to put everything away and head to the Reaping.

Lily goes in front of me and heads to the twelve year old section. I look around and find Ceol. He's in his section but not looking at me. I turn back as I see our escort.

This one's new and I hear many whispers. He looks interesting. Like a victor rather than an escort.

"Welcome to this year's Reaping," he says as he fires up the old video that explains why we have the Games. I remember the war. We should have won.

He finishes the video and goes to the bowl, wasting no time. He thrusts his hand into it and finds a name. He unfolds the paper and reads, "Jennifer Mulzat."

It takes me a second to realize that's my name. I see everyone has made a nice path for me to walk to the stage. Tears cloud my vision, and I can barely see the steps.

I finally make it, as our escort pulls out the boy's name. A flash of recognition goes through his eyes as he reads the name, "Clay Garner."

He scans the crowd like a vulture looking for a meal. I hear some cry as he comes up. I know him from the orchards. He's a nice kid but I wonder what'll happen in the Arena fighting for our lives.

He walks up and shakes my hand as we're hustled into the Justice Building. They lead me to a small room for my visitations.

Lily runs in, busting through the door. Ceol's mom comes in with a sad expression. She hugs me but says nothing. Lily grabs onto me, not wanting to let go. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a Rosary, "Whenever you get scared, pray." I nod as she dries her tears. The Peacekeeper comes in and shows them out.

Ceol comes in and hugs me. He looks at me without talking and then kisses me on the lips. I'm surprised but not unhappy. He looks at me and says, "You can do it. Win." He kisses me again as the Peacekeeper pushes him out. I think my visitors are over but my dad comes in.

He sways and says, "Win and you can buy me a lot of beer."

I laugh at him and say, "If I win, you won't get a cent and you can go die in a gutter. He looks at me then throws the bottle he has at me. I dodge it and the Peacekeepers rush him out.

...

They lead Clay and I to the train. I hear someone shout at Clay. He looks around and goes to my side. Our escort makes him go away and rushes past us. We follow him on the train. I see the plates set out for us and the mound of food on the plates.

Our escort, who had been introduced as Cornelius Husk, walks away from the food and says we'll be training around six. He walks by an incinerator and tosses his jacket away muttering obscenities, "Fucking fire on a goddamn train in the middle of the fucking summer! FUCK!"

I look at Clay and see he has a smile. I ask, "Why is he mad and what is that stupid smile on your face."

He looks at me with his smile and says, "Because that angry man is going to get us home. I know it"

* * *

**Clay Garner, 16 - District 11 male**

**AprilLittle**

* * *

With nine minutes to spare before seven o'clock, the pale orange glow of the rising sun appears over the eastern tree line, softly illuminating my face through the lush green leaves of the tree I've been perching in for the last two hours. When I can't sleep well, I like to go to the groves early and greet the day; most people gravitate towards the flashy colors displayed with the setting of the sun, but I prefer the subtle hues and calmness that surrounds his emergence in the mornings. I lean back against the rough bark and watch as more of his surface appears over the horizon, pushing the pale orange further into the sky as a layer of cherry blossom pink forms beneath. He just reaches the height at which sunbeams are able to pierce through the veil of green, when I hear the first voices of the other harvesters retrieving their baskets and ladders.

I glimpse a swatch of emerald green shirt through the leaves, and I silently begin to follow it from above, using the thin but sturdy branches to propel myself effortlessly down the line of evenly spaced arbores. The shirt cuts left and ducks under some low-lying limbs into the next row over, and I break my cover long enough to leap to the ground, cross the ten feet of open space between rows, then pull myself up into the nearest tree. I take a moment to relocate my quarry; she has come to a halt twenty feet away, below a branch heavily laden with fruit, rubbing her thumb continuously over an object held in the palm of her left hand. Her grandmother's worry stone.

Ninety-seven percent of the time, Miranda is the most calm, confident girl I've ever met, but there are days when she becomes overwhelmed and turns to the dark gray stone worn smooth by the waters lapping on the shores of District 4. I don't believe in such talismans, but Miranda's grandmother did when she accepted the stone as trade for a packet of seeds many years before. And now annually, since it was gifted to her five years beforehand on her first Reaping Day, Miranda removes the small, flat stone from its place of protection beneath the floorboards of her bedroom, and attempts to smooth the worries from her mind. I observe her anxiousness a moment longer - _I'm losing my sunrise serenity!_ - before clearing my head with a vigorous shake. I make my way into the branches directly above her and find a suitable limb just to her right. I sit down and position the branch in the crook of my knees, then slowly lean back, twisting an apple off its stem as I descend.

Hanging upside down beside her, the curls of my unruly brown hair nearly brushing her shoulder, I bring the apple to my mouth and take a nice crisp bite. She jumps at the unexpected noise, but quickly regains her composure and snatches the crimson apple from my grasp, "If the wrong people heard that, you'd be in for a whipping right now, you know!"

I use the back of my forearm to wipe apple juice from my chin, smirking slightly, "Well, now, a whipping really isn't so bad if the right person is wiel-"

"Stop," she says, while using her palm to try to physically wipe the grin off my face, "You're a rotten apple, Clay."

Assisting with her endeavor, I replace the grin with a feigned expression of hurt, "But . . . I thought I was the apple of your eye?"

She sighs in exasperation, but I can see the corners of her mouth turning up in a smile as she moves away to dispose of the ruined apple. Pleased with my small success in cheering her, I reach up and grip the branch with my hands, pulling my legs up and over, then landing on the worn soles of my work shoes, all in one fluid motion, "So what's the schedule looking like today, Boss? Same old?"

Miranda shoves a basket in my arms and starts walking down the row of trees, "Same old, doofus. With a short break for Reaping festivities half past the one o'clock hour."

"Uh-huh, okay. . ." I say, not listening very closely as I traipse along beside her. We duck under another row of trees, in search of my Mom, when I catch sight of a pretty brunette climbing a rickety old wooden ladder, "Hey, Jen! Say, thanks again for patching me up yesterday afternoon!"

Miranda mutters under her breath, "You wouldn't have needed patching if you weren't such a show-off."

"Anytime, Clay," Jen responds politely with a smile, "but you better be a bit more observant next time you try juggling apples near nests of tracker jackers; I might not be there to help out."

"Hear, hear," interjects Miranda.

A slight blush spreads across my cheeks, and I run my fingertips along the less painful, but still swollen stings on my upper arm, "I guess that'll be the day I die!" I try to make it funny, but I know the instant it escapes my mouth that it was a stupid thing to say, today of all days. "So, uh. . .see you two later!" I give a little wave to Jennifer and her younger sister, Lily, who is just emerging from the leafy shadows with a half-full basket of shiny red apples. I see that Miranda has returned to rubbing her worry stone with vigor, and I mentally slap my forehead for making such a dumb comment.

...

At a quarter to one, a snippet of a whistled tune begins to sweep through the treetops, releasing us to prepare for the Reaping. Ceol, one of the young men that works in the farm fields, is walking by with the handle to a large flatbed wagon gripped in his hands. I throw on the half a dozen overflowing baskets that are sitting on the ground, then walk beside him for a few minutes in silence, helping to place other workers' baskets on board so that he doesn't have to stall with his ever-heavying load. When we reach the end of the row, he wipes his brow with a handkerchief, "Thanks, Clay, I appreciate the help today."

"Hey, no problem. It's your last year to be eligible, isn't it?" I ask him.

"Yeah. And Lily's first. At least Jen's almost safe," he says, then claps me on the back and starts to walk home to clean up for the Reaping.

...

District 11 has a new escort this year. When he steps out on the stage to start the propaganda film, everyone takes the opportunity to whisper.

_I heard he's originally from District 13!_

_I heard he let President Cross' wife get shot!_

_He looks like a total fuckhead!_

_Do you think Cornelius Husk is his real name?_

_No, I heard Cross renamed him that and made him an escort to punish him._

_I think he's kind of cute. . ._

I just spend my time studying him. He seems to be a bit below average height, but he appears so confident, that it makes him seem a whole head taller - even standing onstage in a corn-husk green suit and blindingly yellow dress shirt. His light brown skin is right at home within District 11 _- in fact, quite nearly matching my own_ - and free of any silly Capitol embellishments; the close cropping of his brown hair also adds to the neat and orderly appearance. The ridiculous outfit aside, he seems more fit to be our new Head Peacekeeper than our escort into the Hunger Games.

The film screen finally fades to black and I hear the abrupt stop of many voices mid-rumor. I watch as Husk stands with his head bowed and his hands clasped before him, just long enough to make the spectators and potential tributes fidget nervously. He lifts his head, adjusts his tie and cuffs, then proceeds to the large glass bowl on his left marked 'Girls'. His hand quickly and precisely plunges into the center of the bowl and then re-emerges holding a small white slip of paper. "Jennifer Mulzat," he reads, strong and clear.

All eyes, including mine, turn towards the area where the seventeen year old girls are gathered. I arch up on the balls of my feet, trying to catch a glimpse of Jennifer through the crowd. I shoulder my way forward just in time to see the other girls part for her, allowing entrance to the wider, main aisle-way that leads to the stage. I can see the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, but she won't allow them; she keeps an even pace as she makes her way to the stage, mounts the steps, then assumes her position on Husk's right side.

I look beyond the group of other sixteen year old boys and spot my Mom standing anxiously beside the white barricades surrounding the Reaping area. I give a small smile, but quickly realize she isn't making eye contact with me; she's looking past me, instead focusing on the stage. On Cornelius Husk. Confused by her interest in him, I turn back around just in time to see Husk's arm pulling a slip of paper out of the second bowl, the one positioned to his right marked 'Boys'. His brow momentarily furrows as he looks at the name typed on the small sheet of paper, but just as quickly, he regains his composure. Reading clearly once more, though not as strong, he announces my name. "Clay Garner."

My eyes shoot up to the stage and I see Husk scanning the sections of boys, waiting for the tribute to reveal himself. I glance towards my Mom again, and I'm comforted when our eyes make contact this time. A small, sad smile later, I take a deep breath and step forward to claim my spot on the stage next to Jennifer.

...

I'm too restless to sit down when they sequester me into a small ground floor room of the Justice Building for my goodbyes. I draw my hand along the cool surface of the brick wall as I slowly pace the perimeter, waiting for my Mom and Miranda to show up. Four agonizingly long minutes after the door is initially closed, it reopens and they both rush into my arms. Miranda releases me after a short embrace, but my Mom hangs on and hugs tighter than ever before. After a few minutes pass in comforting silence, she releases her hold and delicately places her hands on the sides of my face, looking me straight in the eyes. "You have it in you to win this, Clay. You've got the head for it-," she moves her hands down to the center of my chest, "-and the heart."

Miranda steps beside my Mom, placing an arm around her shoulders, "And you've got _us,_" tears have silently begun to course down my Mom's cheeks, but her face beams with pride beneath them.

"I love you, Son," she says, embracing me once more, "I'll see you when you get home."

_I just hope it's not in a generic pine box freshly assembled by the workers of District 7_, I think to myself.

Mom lets herself out the door, leaving Miranda and I standing awkwardly next to one another. We've never been away from each other for any amount of time that required a real goodbye; I've seen her nearly every day, for as long as I can remember; we've discussed nearly every subject, yet now it seems we've run out of words to say. She breaks the silence first.

"You're going to try, right?"

"_Of course_ I'm going to try," I say a little harsher than intended.

"Just . . .don't be a hero, okay?"

"What do you m-," is all I get out before her lips are against mine, effectively muting my protests.

Too soon, she pulls away. I begin to speak, but she uses one hand to place a finger over my lips and the other to hold her gray worry stone up in front of me.

"I don't believe in that," I mumble past the finger that's supposed to be silencing me.

"That's fine, it's better to believe in yourself anyway," she says, placing the smooth stone in my right hand and closing the fingers around it, "Take it as your token. To remember."

She gives my other hand a squeeze then turns to leave. With the door half open, she looks back once more and waves goodbye. I respond with a stoic smile that quickly falls from my face as the door clicks closed. I am left standing alone in the small room, holding on to Miranda's worry stone. I run my thumb along the groove worn into its surface, then I press it to my lips, feeling the warmth from being clutched in her hand. _Remember._

...

As Husk escorts Jennifer and I out of the Justice Building to the car waiting to whisk us off to the Capitol train, a voice behind us excitedly shouts, "Clay! Hey, Clay, how's it going, man?" Husk and I both whip our heads around to respond, both of us cocking an inquisitive eyebrow at the other. I don't know the man who yelled out. Embarrassed, I retreat to stand by Jennifer as Husk speaks briefly and quietly with the man before sending him on his way, his tail between his legs. "Let's go. We're late," he says, brusquely brushing past us.

...

We enter the dining car of the train to find a late lunch set out with three place settings and chairs awaiting our weary bodies at the far end. My eyes devour the heaping platters of meat, the serving dishes brimming with fruit - some that are regular looking and most likely grown by _our_ District, and some so exotic in appearance that they are clearly created by the Capitol - and the overflowing trays filled with brightly colored desserts. . .but my stomach is too knotted to consume anything right now. Husk looks at the colorful culinary spread with disgust, rips off his ugly green suit jacket, and starts to walk in the opposite direction. In the doorway leading to our sleeping compartments, he turns around long enough to announce we'll begin planning our attack at six o'clock this evening. Then he balls up his jacket and throws it behind the fire grate; the flames immediately jump onto the polyester fabric, filling the train car with a noxious stench. "Fucking fire on a goddamn train in the middle of the fucking summer! _Fuck._"

"Why is he so mad and what is that stupid smile on your face?" Jennifer asks

I laugh a little as I answer her, "Because that angry man is going to get us home. I _know_ it."


	12. District 12

**Cookies A/N: YES! The last reaping chapter! Though only with 23 tributes. District 8 male will be up soon. Review this chapter, PLEASE! And any other chapter if you aren't an author of the project. Your thoughts about our work is important. Maybe someone thinks that the most detailed chapter still lacks something. We wouldn't know unless someone who thinks so says so.**

**And we also need your review not to only improve, but to know, that someone besides us likes/maybe dislikes our job. That we could just look at the reviews and say "this short review that only has two words inspired me. I should write more and try harder to do better!" You know what I mean! And come on! Last month we had 404 visitors and 1173 views. And this month, which has only been 9 days, there had been 105 visitors and 278 views. So let's be honest. You all read this stuff, but don't review. Please do, PRETTY PLEASE REVIEW!**

**And oh, yeah. District 12 everybody! XD**

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**Kristen Shaner, 15 - District 12 female**

**24mayhem24**

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"Kristen," I slowly open my eyes to see my mother leaning over my bed, stroking the side of my face with her pale hand. I give her a dazed smile, before sitting up and rubbing my eyes.

"Kristen, you have to get up now. It's Reaping Day."

"I know," I reply.

Every child in District twelve has been keeping a calendar in their mind, counting down the days before a boy and a girl are chosen to fight to the death with twenty-two other people. Everybody knows that today is the day. In the Seam, people were probably awake hours ago, in the Black Market trying to sell last-minute goods, because who knows; their children, sisters, brothers, maybe even parents could be at risk.

The worst part, I think, would be seeing somebody you know get chosen. A few years ago, both of the tributes were from the poorest corners of the Seam. It appeared that they knew each other well, but on the third day the fourteen year-old girl stabbed the twelve year-old boy in his sleep.

I see the boy's family sometimes, as I'm walking to school. They have a daughter called Nova, who they walk to the nursery every day. Her parents never keep her out of their sight. They don't want to lose her. They could only afford to send Nova to the nursery because the rest of us tried to help them out when their son was killed.

It started with a few gestures; a loaf of bread for free, a rose freshly picked and a small basket of berries. Then the whole of our village knew about the Clive family, because they were so kind-hearted and found it hard to accept even a small token. Peacekeepers couldn't do anything about it, because there was no harm being done, was there?

I'm awakened from my trance by Lionel, my step-brother, who runs in to the room and makes a beeline for my bed. He leaps on to the mattress and I laugh at him as his hair bounces up and down with him. This time next year, Lionel is eligible for the reaping. He could be one of the tributes. But for now, he's safe, so I push him off my bed and clamber out of the covers.

"Go and get dressed," I say, nudging him towards the door. He nods, grins and runs off. I shut the door after him and quietly open my wardrobe.

At the very end is a small collection of reaping outfits. Since I'm fifteen, I can't fit in to my old dresses, so my mother had to lend me two that would last every reaping. I keep the reaping outfits there so I only have to see them once a year. I scan the hanging skirts and dresses and pull out a forest green dress that has a tucked in waist. I carefully lie it on to my bed and pick out a pair of grey flats, placing them at the foot of my bed.

There is a knock at the door, and with permission, Harry enters, telling me the bathtub is free. Harry is my step-father; my mother Freya married him about three years ago. Lionel, his hair dripping wet, makes an appearance behind him.

I give Harry a morning hug, before grabbing the last towel in the cupboard and leaving my room. After a hard scrub with the dwindling lump of soap in the tub, I put on the dress and flats. It falls to my knees, but the waist is a little big for me. I'm slender and tall- I have a lanky appearance.

Mother calls me down for breakfast. I can't help feeling hungry; reaping breakfasts are much more lavish than usual. I rush downstairs and help her set the table as she brings a big steaming bowl of porridge to the middle. This has always been our reaping breakfast, along with another dish that varies each year.

Lionel hurries down looking like a miniature version of Harry- they are both in waistcoats and trousers.

"Happy Reaping," Harry says solemnly, kissing my mother on the cheek.

"Keep our children safe," my mother says, tilting her face so she is addressing nobody in particular.

This is also something that happens pretty much every year. So far, my mother's little prayer has worked. We all sit down and Harry brings a tiny basket of strawberries to the table. We grin and look up at him for words of explanation.

"I bought some today from the Seam children. There's enough for one each, they were expensive."

I savor each spoonful and until it is time for the reaping at two o'clock, the whole family spends time together. We chat, or play games, or something families in the rich Districts get to do on a daily basis without worrying about food, money and clothing.

But soon, the laughter dies, and the festivities end. It is time to leave for the reaping. The journey is a fairly short one, only a twenty-minute walk to the square.

We are ten minutes early, but the square is flooded with people. I turn to my mother first, giving her a reassuring smile and reaching out to touch her shoulder. She tucks a strand of dirty blonde hair behind my ear and smiles back at me. One by one, I briefly smile at my family before taking a deep breath.

"Good luck, Kristen."

"Thank you."

I slowly but surely make my way to the fifteen year-old girl section, to find my two best friends, May and Ryan. May says hello in her usual way, running in for a hug, but today it is more meaningful. Her bubbly personality is subdued for this day. I give her a short hello back, in my usual way.

"Hi."

Ryan approaches me and looks at me questioningly, her penetrating eyes widening, "You okay?"

"Yeah, just nervous. You look really pretty by the way."

"Oh. And thanks, I tried this new facial wash thing that I made from rose petals and lavender. "

That is all we have time for as a series of half-hearted taps on a microphone echo across the town square. The talking becomes hushed whispers and eventually silence. A sea of heads turns at once and I take one final look at my family before the reaping starts.

"Hello, District 12!" our escort calls. "And welcome to the 7th Annual Hunger Games!"

After a minute of silence passes, he gestures to a large screen. As he raises his arm, he seems a bit distracted. From my angle, he looks like he's more focused on his nails than the image projected for us all to see.

As the 'epic story' comes to a conclusion, we simultaneously turn to face the stage like one big machine. Reaping are always perfectly timed, perfectly executed and perfectly prepared for. But every person; boy and girl, man and woman, is far too concerned for themselves or for others to appreciate the planning.

It's almost like a farewell party- making fun of the fact that District Twelve will lose two more members. The people in the Capitol are probably anxiously waiting for a fresh batch of tributes to arrive. I can imagine the ladies and the men are getting their hair done, maybe even dying it by the looks of our escort.

His hair is long and dark, but he has a goatee beard that is dyed bleach blonde, almost white. He steps on to a podium and grins.

"As you ladies and gentlemen all know… I'll be your escort and your mentor! Oh my gosh, let's start this reaping!"

I instantly feel a wave of dismay crashing over my head- best of luck to whoever is chosen. I have a feeling his tactics will be something along the lines of 'make sure to look great while you're fighting', followed by 'oh, and try to stay alive'.

The mayor quickly stands up and delivers a short speech, outlining what we saw in the video of the Dark Days. He briefly condemns rebellion and suggests we all come together to celebrate this year's Hunger Games- an ingenious idea created by the people of the Capitol. Then Lazaro Imoso (the escort) springs up from his chair and proceeds towards the reaping ball. I clutch my stomach from nerves and from hunger- if this was a normal day my family would be eating right now (usually something like a slice of bread each with butter and salad, or bread and broth). We space out our meals so that we always finish whatever we get- we've been taught never to waste food because it is scarce for those in the Seam.

"Hello, District Twelve, and a happy happy happy happy happy Hunger Games to everybody here! I love love love love this amazingly fantabulastical holiday! Love it, love it, love it! Let us see who our two lucky tributes are this year, hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?" my heart beats faster and faster, forcing me to close my eyes, "mmmmhmmhmmhmm, ladies first, as always."

My breathing becomes heavier, I feel like I need to gasp for air, "Kristen Shaner! Oh, such a lovely, beautiful, fabulous name! Kristy, baby, come on up to the stage, darling!"

No. No, no, no. It's not actually you. Open your eyes. Look around you Kristen, it's not you. It's not real. I open my eyes quickly and find hundreds of faces staring at me, some with relief on their faces, some with sympathy, and some with sorrow.

I curse myself for lying. It is me. It is real. I feel hysteria creeping up on me, because I never actually believed it would happen to me. I should have prepared myself. I should have accepted the fact that it could happen to me. I didn't, but now it has: my fears have caught up with me.

I always heard from May and Ryan that some families taught their children to accept the fact that they could die. Lionel and I were told many times by my mother and step-father that it could happen.

"Kristen."

I look up to see Peacekeepers advancing towards me. May is shaking me and Ryan simply takes my hand in hers and squeezes. I blink and loosen myself from their holds, nodding at the stage to tell them I know it's me and I'm coming. The Peacekeepers come to a halt in front of the fifteen year-old section.

I take in a deep breath, and notice that I am shivering as I separate myself from all the girls my age. I suppose I'm different now, because I've been condemned.

Everyone is probably guessing how far in to the Bloodbath I will die. There's a sort of rule in our District, that whenever our tributes are reaped, we root for them until they die. And when they do die, as they have done so far, their names are rarely mentioned after condolences are given and their families 'honored'.

It's only the Seventh Hunger Games, yet a lot of people have already made assumptions about what will happen. The later Districts; 10, 11 and 12- they don't really stand a chance. Districts 1, 2 and 4- one of their tributes will win. Since a few years ago, there were a lot of rumors spreading that those Districts have training centers. Their tributes are trained to go into the Games if it should ever happen.

Now we all know that the tributes are usually hand-picked and want to volunteer. There are never any volunteers in District 12, and this is the thought that looms over me like a thundercloud as I approach the stage. The Peacekeepers are close behind me; I can hear their breathing and it makes my spine tingle.

The walk to the stage seems the longest walk I've ever taken. My eyes are focused on the floor, and they're slowly welling up with tears. The escort is complimenting my name but I don't listen. And when I hear the silence as volunteers are called for, my heart sinks.

"Now for the males! You stay right there, Kristy, honey," Lazaro cries, patting me on the shoulder. "Ashwood Greenley!"

Suddenly, crowds part and someone in a wheelchair is practically lifted on to the stage. I can't help but feel awkward while this happens, but his face seems calm and composed. I wish I could say the same for myself. What surprises me the most is that when volunteers are called, he refuses. A brave guy, I think.

Or maybe he just wants the glory. Lazaro is just overjoyed. As both our escort and our mentor, I'm wondering whether this is just to get closer to him. It's not like anyone would volunteer anyway.

Soon we are whisked off to the Justice Building, and the plush cushions make me feel uncomfortable. I can't slouch, or sit it perfectly straight without sinking down. The door opens and my whole family rushes through, but Lionel is quicker and reaches me first.

He leaps up on to my lap and just lets out a huge sob. Then I can't help it either, and we are just crying in each other's arms. My stepfather encircles us and my mother in his strong arms and we just stay there. The only noises are our sobs and sniffles. The others slowly pull away and I receive a few kisses, making my cheeks even wetter.

"I love you, honey," my mother whispers. "Stay strong, because we love you and believe in you."

That's all we have time for, and I call goodbye through hysteric tears. I can't take this. I just can't. And then Lazaro comes in with a:

"Oh baby, dry those eyes and just dazzle us all with your smile!" I know that this is not just about getting close to the top. It's about survival, and I will do anything, anything it takes to win. But there's just one problem: I have no idea what to do.

* * *

**Ashwood Greenley, 17 - District 12 male**

**Vykktor**

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_Thieves respect property. They merely wish the property to become their property that they may more perfectly respect it._

_Gilbert K. Chesterton_

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_Crash!_ My tailbone lands on a root poking up through the dirt floor and pain rockets up my spine. I clutch my backside and bite my tongue, trying not to scream. The last thing I need is for someone to come in and see me here. After rolling over onto some softer dirt, I strain to look up at the ceiling. So much for being covert. The two foot hole I had originally planned on making is now a chasm. There's hardly any ceiling left.

The pain in my back has subsided to a dull throb, but my tailbone feels like it's on fire every time I move my hips. This is a problem because the old man who lives here could be back any minute, and he probably wouldn't appreciate a scrawny seventeen-year-old like me rooting through his things. Thievery is typically frowned upon in this society.

I prop myself up on one elbow and reach up to one of the shelves despite the howls of rebellion coming from my back. My hand closes upon a small, cool jar and I bring it down to my eye level so I can read the label. Raspberry jam. My spirits lift a little. Maybe breaking my back will be worth it after I'm done here. Setting the jar by my leg, I reach up and grab another. It's got the same contents as the first one. I reach up again, and this time I am rewarded with blackberry. I keep raiding that shelf until I have six jars of jam in my lap, then I open the cupboard below the shelf. Fresh loaves of bread and hunks of cheese greet me warmly with their inviting aromas. I quickly empty the cupboard and put the jam, bread, and cheese into my pack.

I reach for the cupboard next to the empty one, but the repeated protests coming from my back convince me to stop. Pain shoots up my spine once again as I shift my weight to face the light shining through the hole above me. I comb the roots dangling from the remains of the ceiling until I find a lone piece of string. _I really hope this works,_ I say silently to myself. Thankfully I had the foresight to consider the possibility of me injuring myself (at the time, I hadn't known how deep this pantry was going to be), so I developed my own emergency exit. I tug on the string and a rope ladder silently falls into my hand.

I grab hold of a rung with one hand and steady my pack with the other, then tug the ladder twice. Slowly I am lifted from the pantry and onto the grassy ceiling. "What happened? Why did you need a lift? The room looks to be only a few feet deep!" My friend Tirk whispers angrily. "Ayma and I were watching out for Cafferd. What happened to you?" he presses me for more information, but is silenced by a hand covering his mouth. I shift my gaze over to Ayma, who lifts a finger to her lips. Then she points past Tirk's shoulder. Cafferd is home early. The ceiling of his house over the pantry is only a few feet off the ground, so all Cafferd has to do is look to the right and he'll see three thieves next to a gaping hole directly above his pantry. Tirk sees this and immediately drops to his stomach, but Ayma makes a small noise of protest and gives him a look of warning. Tirk gives a confused look back, but I understand.

"Tirk," I whisper fiercely. "Do push-ups!"

He looks at me, bewildered. "Why?"

"Just do them!" He hesitates, but then starts doing push-ups. Ayma pretends to be impressed while Cafferd turns his head towards us and squints. The old man stares at Tirk for a while, but then he shrugs and hobbles inside. As soon as the door shuts, Tirk picks himself up.

"So what happened to you, Ash?" Tirk asks again. I shake my head.

"I hurt my back, but there's no time to explain how. We need to get out of here!" I say urgently. I accidentally pick up my head and a fresh wave of pain washes over me. Ayma turns to Tirk.

"Tirk, the stretcher," she says desperately. "Get out the stretcher!" Tirk complies wordlessly, taking two staves wrapped in cloth from his back. Then he unrolls the stretcher like a scroll and sets it on the ground parallel to me while Ayma takes my pack. I inch onto the stretcher with the help of Ayma and Tirk. As soon as I'm on, Ayma and Tirk lift me up and carry me away into a dense thicket of trees. Not sixty feet from the house do we hear Cafferd's anguished cry.

"We need to move faster!" Tirk urges Ayma, but she shakes her head and stops.

"Any faster and Ash could get even more hurt!" she argues. I look at Tirk, who's looking back towards Cafferd's house. Finally, he sighs and faces ahead again.

We continue on at a steady pace until we reach the small, weathered shack we call our home. After leading the stretcher in carefully through the front door, Tirk cautiously sets his end down on the table. With a broad sweep of his arm, he clears the table of any debris the three of us left there before heading out to Cafferd's.

"Careful!" I say after Ayma starts to push me onto the table. My head knocks up against the edge of the table causing a shockwave of pain to ripple through my body.

"Sorry, Ash!" She apologizes. I manage a small smile then look at her.

"I'll be fine," I say. "You guys can fix me up."

"You want some sleep syrup, Ash?" asks Tirk as he starts to take some medical supplies from the cabinet above Ayma's head. Normally I would refuse. Our sleep syrup is in short supply, for one thing, plus, I'm not too crazy about the stuff. I can understand how people can get addicted to its sedative effect, but I can't get past the taste. I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but I can hardly move without my tailbone or back flaring up again, so I reluctantly accept.

"Yeah, thanks, Tirk. Not too much, though, okay?"

Tirk nods and uncorks the little vial of sleep syrup and pours some carefully into a spoon, then he hands Ayma the spoon. She lowers it into my mouth and I try not to gag as I swallow the sickly sweet liquid. Immediately my eyes begin to droop. Soon, everything goes blurry and I fall gently into dreamland.

_They're my siblings, Tirk and Ayma. We've lived together for several years now. I think it was… the year after the first Hunger Games? Yeah, it was. After seeing what happened to our older brother, Jarshal, we didn't want anything to do with the games, so we ran away._

_After the rebellion, President Adrian Cross announced that the districts were going to pay for their wrongdoings with the Hunger Games: a competition involving a boy and a girl from each district fighting to the death in an arena until one child remains. Even though Jarshal was eighteen and only had to go through one reaping, he was still wary of the possibility of getting reaped. So, despite President Cross' warnings not to train one's self in combat, Jarshal did so anyway. Every day, my big brother would sneak under the fence of District Twelve and prepare for the Games by trying to survive the day in the woods. Unable to bear the thought of losing Tirk, Ayma, or me, he brought us along as well._

_Before the first Hunger Games, Tirk was eleven and Ayma was nine. I was only ten. The three of us went to the woods with Jarshal every day to train; only, it was more playing than training for us since we didn't know what the president was really talking about. Twenty-four kids fighting to death in an arena? Is that some new movie that's going to come out? Oh, wow, look at the size of that worm!_

_That was pretty much our mentality._

_The first few months were great. My siblings and I could play for hours while Jarshal went off into the woods and did whatever he did (we didn't really pay attention to him). This, as all good things do, came to a stop, however. Or at least, it became… difficult._

_Our father was (and is) a drunk and a weasel. He's truly the most heartless person in District Twelve. If given the chance, he would probably trade one of us for booze. While our mother died in the rebellion to save me and my siblings from harm, our father was selling the Capitol secret battle plans of the resistance. He was rewarded handsomely for his treachery, but thanks to his addiction to alcohol, we were living in the slums like everyone else within a month._

_Anyway, Dad found out about the sneaking out around four months after we started. He must've been feeling nice that day, because he let Jarshal off with a warning, saying that if he caught him sneaking out again, he'd turn him in to the Peacekeepers. Jarshal kept going to the woods anyway, but Dad's threat was enough to prevent Tirk, Ayma, and me from heading back there anytime soon._

_It was three days before the First Annual Hunger Games. Jarshal snuck out around midnight. I know because I was getting up for a drink of water around the same time he was sneaking out. I don't know why, but I hid under the table. Jarshal did a quick scan of the room, making sure that Dad wasn't awake no doubt, and then he hurried out the doorway. I sat there under the table for a while, unsure as to what I should do. Should I just go back to bed? Should I tell my siblings? Should I go after him alone? After all, it had been months since I had been to the woods. I was dying to go. I knew that sitting around and thinking had to stop soon, though. The longer I spent making up my mind, the farther away Jarshal would get. So, with a deep breath, I cautiously stood up and made my way outside._

_I kept to the shadows as I silently snuck over to the fence. I could practically taste the sweet, plump raspberries that grew of the eastern edge of the forest outcropping by the time I reached the barrier. I was totally unprepared for what was there already, though. As I hid behind a collection of barrels near the fence, I saw one of my worst nightmares unfold before my eyes. Jarshal, beaten and bloody, was being carried away by a pair of Peacekeepers. His shoulder-length black hair that he normally kept neat and slicked back was now strewn across his face. There was a cut below his eye and on his upper lip, both bleeding profusely. His right leg was bent at an awkward angle, and he grunted in pain whenever he used it. This resulted in a slap from one the Peacekeepers. My brother went silent. I bit down on my finger to keep from crying out to him, knowing that if I did, I would most likely receive a punishment for being out after hours._

_So, I stayed. I stayed until the Peacekeepers beat my brother senseless and finally dragged him away. Even after they left, I stayed in that barrel, soundlessly crying my eyes out. I finally got out of the barrel and on my way home about an hour later. As I headed to my house, my cries started to gain in volume. By the time I reached the house, I was openly sobbing. It was a miracle I wasn't caught. I told Tirk and Ayma what had happened the following morning, but we all agreed that telling Dad would be a big mistake, so we let him think Jarshal was off drunk in an alleyway._

_I didn't see my oldest brother until the morning of the reaping. The people of District Twelve cautiously gathered themselves in the town center, unsure as to what they should do. Eventually everyone was situated into three sections. On the left side of the square were the boys, with sections cut off by ropes signifying different ages. The girls section had the same design, but they were on the right. In the middle was an aisle, in a twenty foot radius around the whipping post. In the back sat all those who were ineligible to "compete". This meant all people younger than twelve and older than eighteen. None of us knew it yet, but that circle between the boys and the girls was not going to be a tradition._

_Jarshal was dragged out of the Justice Building in chains and tied to the whipping post. The mayor and district escort followed, along with the Head Peacekeeper, Tyronius Pirhanax. The Head Peacekeeper went up to the podium before anyone else._

"_Happy Hunger Games!" he boomed. A stony silence was the response. Tyronius' attitude remained unchanged. "I for one am very excited to get the ball rolling here. First up on the list of things to do!" He gestured broadly to Jarshal. "Rule breakers." His tone went from jovial to grave. "I know this idea is new. The rules haven't exactly been drilled in your heads yet." Tyronius took the microphone in his hand and began to walk slowly down the steps. "Maybe this'll help." He walks powerfully up to my brother and takes the whip from its hook on the post. "This," he announces, gesturing to Jarshal, "is Jarshal Greenley. Age eighteen, male." The Head Peacekeeper sounded like he was naming off a bidding item. "One might ask, 'Why is that boy tied to the whipping post?'" he sweeps his gaze over the people of District Twelve. "My answer to you is this. Jarshal Greenley broke the rules." Tyronius, who had his back facing Jarshal, suddenly whirled around and brought the whip down on Jarshal's back. "This urchin was training for the Games!"_

_If Tyronius was expecting a collective gasp from the audience, then he was sorely disappointed. He turned his head to look Jarshal straight in the eye. "I appreciate your desire to entertain the citizens of Panem, Jarshal," he taunted, "but rules are rules." Jarshal responded by spitting in Tyronius' face. While his helmet shielded his face from the spittle, this act of defiance definitely did not sit well with the Head Peacekeeper because he then started to whip Jarshal, over and over again. By the time Jarshal was dragged away, I could barely even recognize him._

"Ash?" Ayma's voice brings me back into consciousness. "Ash, are you still with us?"

I open my eyes slowly to see Tirk, Ayma, and another man standing over me. I can't see his face due to the shadows that are cast over it (There's a lamp directly above his head. This doesn't matter though, because I already know who it is. Tirk must have brought him to our little dwelling while I was unconscious. His name is Brandle Regnas. He's sort of a… freelance surgeon/chiropractor/medicine man. I recognize him by his coat, which has dozens of tiny pockets all over it. He uses them to hold anything from spare change to nightlock berries.

"Well, he's awake," Brandle says, relieved. He turns to me. "Ash, I'm going to tell you this much. You are in for a rough recovery. That fall did a number on your tailbone."

"Yeah, I can tell," I say wryly.

"You're probably going to be spending the majority of your time in bed for at least the next month," he continues.

"And after that?"

"We'll have to see how well you do. My hope is that you should be able to walk by August."

"Let's hope so," I mutter. "I'd sort of like to be in fighting condition before the Reaping."

"That's _if_ you get reaped," Ayma interjects.

"Right, _if_ I get reaped," I say. She seems reassured by this because she decides not to give me a look of skepticism, which is pretty common whenever I speak. But really, what motivation would I have to volunteer? The riches that come with winning? No sir. Too much of a risk of life and limb. I'm pretty content with the life I'm living right now. Tirk and Ayma are two of my greatest friends in the district and the only legitimate family I have (Dad doesn't count). I'd like nothing more than to just stay with them until none of us have to face the Reapings again.

"I can't say I have anything else to say, Ash, so I'm gonna head out. Take care." With that, he starts to put away his things. I try to sit up and thank Brandle, but a flare of back pain keeps me on the table. He turns around and looks at me sternly. "You stay there. You're going to have to be lying down for the next couple of weeks, alright? That tailbone of yours needs a rest." I stare at him in annoyance. I'm an active guy! Does he really expect me to be able to sit still for that long?

I'm about to protest, but Ayma jumps in before I can. "What sort of physical therapy should we be doing?"

Brandle shakes his head. "Let's worry about that in a few weeks. For now, the best you guys can do is keep him in bed. Shouldn't be doing much in the area of physical endeavors. I'll come over again in a few weeks. We can talk physical therapy then."

I groan miserably as soon as Brandle leaves. Ayma looks at me fearfully.

"You okay, Ash?"

I look back at her with a pained expression on my face. "I don't wanna do physical therapy," I whine. Her expression quickly changes from concerned to irritated.

"Quit being a baby, Ash," she chastises me as she grabs hold of the bars near my feet. There was a kid in my grade that broke his arm a few years ago. He had to go through physical therapy and he survived." She looks at Tirk. "Grab those bars, Tirk," she says, tilting her head towards the bars near my head. Tirk obliges and they slowly lift me up. As they start heading towards my room, I turn my head to Ayma to protest.

"Yeah, I remember that kid you're talking about, Ayma. When he got back from treatment, all he ever did was complain about how grueling the physical therapy was."

"Doesn't matter," she says dismissively. "What Brandle say, goes. And if he says you need physical therapy, you're getting it."

"Thanks, Mom," I mutter. Ayma rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything back. Tirk, who's walking backwards, nudges the door to my room open. He and Ayma carefully lower me down onto my bed, and as they exit my room, Ayma turns around to face me.

"You're going to do everything you can to recover, got me?"

I groan instead of answering. She rolls her eyes again, not willing to argue with me right now, and shuts the door, leaving me alone with nothing to occupy myself save a bruised tailbone.

The months before the reaping go by in a flash. It feels as though it was only yesterday that I raided Cafferd's pantry. But in reality, that was three months ago. Three incredibly short months. I guess that's what happens when one gets older. Years become smaller fractions of our lives. When we are five years of age, a year is equal to 20% of our life. Now, I'm seventeen years old. A year is much more insignificant to me now than when I was five. This doesn't exactly excite me when I think of becoming an elderly man. A year would mean even less to me. Life will go on, faster and faster, each year taking less time than the last, until abruptly, it ceases.

I rise later in the morning. Sitting up, I peer over to the sundial clock near the only window of my tiny little room. 12:17 PM. Damn it. They let me sleep in.

I turn my body and swing my legs over the side of my bed. My wheelchair waits for me at the side of my bed. "Tirk," I call out. "I'm up. Help me out here!" Tirk comes into my room a few seconds later and holds out his hand. I take it and he lifts me up out of my bed. He then lowers me into my wheelchair and I thank him. Once he walks out of the room, I grab my towel and head into the bathroom where my brother and a steaming hot tub of water wait for me. I slide my undergarments off and then take Tirk's hand again. He positions me with my back facing the tub and then slowly lowers me in.

"Let me know when you're done," he says as he leaves the bathroom. I rattle off a quick, 'Okay,' and he shuts the door behind him. It only takes about five minutes to get myself clean, but I decide to take the next couple of minutes trying to get into my wheelchair by myself. I hate asking my brother for help. It just intensifies the feeling of helplessness that comes with an injury.

After struggling for about five more minutes with nothing to show for it, I hang my head in resignation and shout, "I'm done!" Tirk comes back into the bathroom and helps me into my wheelchair. "Thanks," I mutter.

"Don't mention it, Ash." He hands me a towel hanging on a nearby rack. I put it on to cover myself, then I wheel my way back into my room. My reaping clothes sit neatly on a chair next to my bed. Thankfully, I don't need any help getting into them. I reach over and pull on my boxers, socks and pants with moderate difficulty. You'd be surprised how difficult it is to put on pants while sitting down. I then put a fresh, white undershirt over my bare chest and follow with a burnt-orange dress shirt.

When I exit the room, I find Tirk and Ayma already sitting at the table. Tirk has a dark grey dress shirt and black slacks on. His blond hair is styled in a way that gives him an air of power. Ayma has a dress that's turquoise in color. Her hair is done up in an ancient fashion from before the Dark Days. Greek, perhaps? Anyway, it makes her look just as powerful as my brother. When they see me, though, their moods both change immediately to sadness. Can't say I blame them. I'm going into this reaping with a wheelchair.

The reaping doesn't start for another few hours, so we take our time with lunch. I'm the best cook out of the three of us, so I usually decide what we have to eat around here. Today we dive into the ever glorious leftover venison in the icebox. I take out the venison and wheel my way outside where the cooking fire is. Now, what to do with it? After I think about it for a little bit, I head back inside.

"Tirk, do we still have eggs?" He looks up from the design he was carving into his walking stick and shrugs.

"Lemme check." He ambles over to the icebox and pulls out an egg carton. "Looks like there's about five left here, Ash."

"Good," I reply. "How many do you want?"

"Two should be fine." He turns to Ayma, who's sharpening one of her hunting knives. "How many for you, Ayma?"

"One is good," she says, not looking up.

"Then I'll have the last two," I say simply. "Brunch today, sound good?" They both nod. I smile. "Excellent."

"You want these eggs now, Ash?" Tirk inquires.

"Yeah, sure. Give 'em here." I wheel my way over to the table and start cutting the venison into strips. Tirk sets the carton of eggs next to me. "How many strips of venison bacon you guys want?" Ayma looks up from her knife.

"Three, I guess."

"Okay, and for you Tirk?" He looks over at the venison for a few seconds. Then he shakes his head and goes back to whittling his walking stick.

"None for me thanks. Had a big breakfast," he replies.

"He did," adds Ayma. "That was a full carton of eggs before he got at them earlier." She and I laugh. Our brother's eating habits have been a running joke for years. Tirk looks at Ayma indignantly.

"There were not a dozen eggs in there this morning!" he protests. My sister gives him a look that says, 'Yeah, right, and I'm a Gamemaker'.

"Okay, Tirk," she taunts. "How many eggs were there before you had breakfast this morning?" He squirms uncomfortably in his seat.

"…Eleven…" he finally mumbles. Ayma flashes him a smug smile.

"Figured it was somewhere around that."

"Shut up, I got hungry. Besides, we can get as many eggs as we want." This is true; the game ( we catch is usually very popular down in the Seam. Granted, we haven't been able to get as much with my injury, but Tirk and Ayma are both excellent hunters by themselves.

It doesn't take long for the food to cook. I pride myself in both a good fire and a good meal, and a good fire is required (at least, with us) to have cooked food. While most might look at it as a burden, I just see it as being able to do two things I love at once.

"Soup's on!" I yell, and Tirk and Ayma come rushing out, plates at the ready. I have no idea what that saying "Soup's on" means, but I like it so I use it. We eat our meager meal in silence. The day of the reaping is always a quiet day. Impending death tends to have this aura of despair that just likes to shut people up.

When we finish eating, it's one o'clock already, according to the sundial I have set up in the front of our house. There's still an hour before the reaping begins, but we live pretty far from the town center, so we typically leave earlier than most.

"Okay, so maybe it takes a little more time than I thought it would to cook the food," I say, turning to my brother and sister. "We ready to head to the town center?" Tirk hastily swallows the last bit of egg he was chewing and nods. I turn to Ayma. "How about you, Ayma? You ready yet?" She holds up a finger and points to her mouth, which is also full of egg, and then nods. "Okay, you guys wait here." Without another word, I wheel my way through the house and into my room. To my right is my dresser. I root through it until I find a small box at the bottom. Inside is a pair of black leather gloves.

The gloves originally belonged to my eldest brother, Jarshal. They were given to him when he joined the defense force during the rebellion. They aren't very special gloves, by any means. The fanciest feature on them is that they were aerated for breathability. Still, they're of great use when hunting. Those gloves give me a fantastic grip on my bow.

Once I come back outside, Tirk and Ayma stand up and we head out to the town center. Again, there isn't much in the name of conversation. There never has been ever since the first reaping.

We arrive at the town center with around ten minutes to spare, right when kids are starting to file in. I roll up to the line in front of the seventeen-year-old section and wait my turn to get in.

"Name?" the female Peacekeeper in front of the section drones methodically.

"Ashwood Greenley," I state plainly. She takes my finger and pricks it, letting my blood seep out onto the scanner.

"You're clear," she says, waving me in. I nod and wheel my way into an open spot in the section. As the next ten minutes drag on, I start to see less and less of the stage, which isn't exactly a punishment, really. It's not like there's anything I'd like to see there. By the time that everyone has made it into their proper sections, the only way I can see the stage is through a side screen, and even that is partially covered up by a giant sixteen-year-old. Poor me.

The nation's anthem begins to play as the mayor of the district, John Doe, strides onstage. He's followed closely by the district escort, Lazaro Imoso. Goodness, I wish that sixteen-year-old was taller. Lazaro's long, slick hair is dyed jet black this year and combed back to display his ridiculously tan and even more ridiculously shiny face. His facial hair is tamer than last year, thank god. I don't even want to talk about last year's facial hair. Disgusting. But anyway, he's gone a little simpler this year, with only a pencil-thin mustache the same color as his hair and an exceptionally swirly, blond goatee.

Mayor Doe starts his speech about the war as soon as the anthem stops playing, and he does not disappoint; it's as dull and monotonous as ever. After about ten minutes of boring droll from our esteemed mayor, Lazaro takes to the podium.

"Hello, District Twelve, and a happy happy happy happy happy Hunger Games to everybody here! I love love love love this amazingly fantabulastical holiday! Love it, love it, love it! Let us see who our two lucky tributes are this year, hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?" He prances electrically towards the girls' bowl. "Mmmmhmmhmmhmm, ladies first, as always," Lazaro chuckles excitedly. He deftly takes a slip of paper from the bowl and unfolds it with a flourish. How, I haven't a clue.

"Kristen Shaner!" he shouts happily. "Oh, such a lovely, beautiful, fabulous name! Kristy, baby, come on up to the stage, darling!" He sounds like he's going to wet himself from excitement as a girl from the fifteen-year-old section makes her way up to the stage. "Any volunteers for Miss Shaner? Anyone?" Lazaro asks eagerly. A stony silence is the response given by the people of the district. This doesn't seem to faze him in the least however, because he jumps right back into his usual, bubbly, annoying routine.

"And now, onto the boys!" he leaps over to the boys' bowl and, without wasting another secondly, snaps a piece of paper up and reads the name.

"Ashwood Greenley!"

Oh, crap.

If I wasn't in a wheelchair, my knees would've buckled and I'd have fallen to the floor. I feel so cold all of a sudden. Like all life has been drained from my body. Chills drag race up and down my spine, crashing violently at every turn, gluing me to my spot. Finally I snap out of it when another boy in the section starts to awkwardly try to wheel me over to the stage. I waving him off impatiently and then wheel myself into the center aisle. There's a collective gasp from the people around me. Even Lazaro looks a little shocked as I roll up to the stage, where an entirely new and unprecedented problem decides to show itself. The only way up to the stage is a little staircase in the center of the stage. Not exactly wheelchair accessible, is it? I can't help but chuckle at the awkward situation before me.

"Well, it looks like I can't go," I announce. I turn around and start heading away from the stage when the Peacekeepers in front of the twelve-year-old boys' and girls' sections swiftly move in front of me and block my path. "Kidding, I say hastily, turning back towards the stage. Two particularly burly Peacekeepers rush up to me and lift my chair up off the ground. They then proceed to carry me up the stairs. Boy, am I glad District Twelve has such thoughtful people.

"And now, are there any volunteers for Mr. Greenley, here? Anybody?" Lazaro smiles to the crowd, looking for volunteers, as I do the same. I can see Tirk in the back of the eighteen-year-old section, looking like he might go for it. Then I realize something. I can't let him. If he dies, Ayma's going to be left with me to look after. That's effectively killing all three of us. Tirk by Hunger Games, Ayma by stress, and me by starvation. I cannot let that happen.

Before I can convince myself otherwise, I grab the microphone out of Lazaro's manicured hand. "There will not be any volunteers," I say firmly. If Lazaro is surprised by this, he doesn't show it. Instead, he looks positively joyful.

"Ooh, tremendous! Fantastic! Absolutely fabulous! Let's hear it for these brave tributes, Kristen Shaner and Ashwood Greenley!" Nobody claps. Nobody does anything, really. All that can be heard are my sister's sobs, as well as a family in the back that I assume is Kristen's.

After a few seconds of silence, the anthem begins to play, confetti cannons fire into the air, and Kristen and I are led into the Justice Building after a quick handshake. Soon, we are separated and I am taken down a long hallway. Finally, we stop at a door which a Peacekeeper opens. As soon as I am shoved inside, the door closes behind me. It takes about a minute for Tirk and Ayma to come barging in. Ayma's eyes are red from crying.

"Why wouldn't you let me volunteer?" Tirk demands angrily. "You're in a wheelchair, Ash! A wheelchair!" he shouts. "Your chances of winning are next to none!"

"That's why I said, 'no volunteers'," I say. "If you were to volunteer and not come back, where would that leave me and Ayma?" This stops Tirk in his tracks. "We wouldn't be able to last on her hunting alone. No offense, Ayma," I say quickly, turning to my only sister. She just hides her face and shakes her head for fear that she might burst into tears again if she dared speak. I turn back to Tirk whose now decided to sit down on a nearby couch. "I need you to look after her, Tirk, okay?" He looks at me like he's on the verge of tears as well. Instead, he chuckles.

"You make it sound like you're the oldest out of all of us, Ash," he remarks.

"Nope, just the smartest."

"Ha, ha."

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and someone I don't recognize stumbles in. His hair is unkempt and enormously dirty. His clothes are all very old and worn, and he smells like he hasn't taken a bath in years. And then, I remember. _Dad_. My father crashes into an armchair, spilling a little of the contents of the bottle he's clutching.

"Dammit," he mutters. He looks up at me and a huge, crooked smile spreads across his face. I can already feel the hatred boiling up inside me and my siblings. "Well, hellllllllllllo there, kid!" he slurs as he stumbles over to me and claps me roughly on the shoulder. "Congratulations on winning the Hunger Games, my boy. YOU MAKE A PAPA PUH-ROUD!" he shouts, trapping me in a drunken bear hug. "What happened here, sonny?" he asks, looking at my legs. "You screw so many broads in this shithole that ya forgot how to stand?" he laughs harshly at his own joke until he starts coughing, spraying phlegm all over me. He turns to Ayma. "How 'bout this one, huh?" he asks, jabbing a finger towards her. "She looks like a hottie," he says, trying to be seductive all of a sudden. "Maybe I'll take her home with me instead," he drawls, smiling wickedly at her. Repulsed, Ayma slaps him in the face. This only seems to encourage him, though, because his smile just gets wider. "Oh yeah, I think I'm gonna be taking her! She's a feisty one!

At this, Tirk snaps. He jumps from his seat and starts whaling on our father, over and over again, punching him as hard as he can. Neither I nor Ayma make a move to stop him, either. That bastard deserves every punch he's getting.

Unfortunately, the scuffle must have been heard by someone outside of the room, because not ten seconds after Tirk threw the first punch, four Peacekeepers burst in and started dragging him, my father, and my sister out of the room., and just like that, I am left alone. The two people I've cared about so much these past years, my greatest companions, have been ripped from my life. I'm never going to see them again. Never again…

Eventually, as I sit here in silence, the door opens. Brandle Regnas walks in and takes a seat on the couch next to me.

"By August, my ass," I say, glaring at him.

"Hey, don't blame me, kid," he says defensively. "You should be fully healed by now. I have no idea why you aren't."

"There's no way I can win this thing!" I shout, ignoring him. "I'm in a wheelchair for Pete's sake!"

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" he asks.

"Fix this!" I exclaim, gesturing to my wheelchair.

"That was rhetorical."

"…Well still, you would think there'd be a rule against sending people like me to the Hunger Games. I mean really, how entertaining is a guy in a wheelchair going to be? I doubt I'm going to boost ratings at the Capitol with this hunk of junk."

"There was a kid who went into the Hunger Games a few years ago with two fingers missing," he supplies. "He didn't get too far though. I think he died at the bloodbath…" I glare at him and he shrinks into his seat. "Right, sorry, not helping."

I sigh heavily. "It's fine, Brandle. You've done all you can."

"Yeah, I have," he says wryly. "The only thing I don't have is a clue as to why you are still in that wheelchair. You should be totally fine!"

"Seems like it's a secret to everybody."

"It does, doesn't it." With that, Brandle stands up. "I'm going to go, kid. You need anything from me?" I shake my head. "Alrighty then." He walks over to the door and turns around to look at me. "Good luck, Ash."

Because luck is going to help a kid in a wheelchair.

The only other visitor I have is the guy who awkwardly started pushing my chair towards the stage when my name was called, and he just stops in to quickly apologize. Then he leaves.

After a while, I hear a hissing sound coming from behind me. I spin my wheelchair around to see a door appear in a section of what looked like just a plain old wall. Out of the doorway steps Lazaro Imoso.

"Hellllloooo, Ashwood, are you excited for the biggest event of the year I bet you are. Oh, such an honor! You much be super super super excited, aren't you Ashwood? I knew you were! But anyway, we need to get on the train! C'mon, let's go go go go go go go!" he starts to push my chair onto the train, but I shove him away.

"I can work this thing just fine, thank you very much," I say icily. As I pass through the doorway, a blast of cool air hits me full force. It feels like the temperature has dropped ten degrees. It's nice, actually. District Twelve is especially hot in the summer, so this is a welcome change. There's food on nearly every flat space in the entire train. The tables, the bar, even the windowsills have little bowls of nuts. The part that amazes me the most is that it's all wheelchair accessible. It's almost like they knew I was going to get reaped.

Almost…


	13. Chariot Preparation

**Cookies A/N: Yeah, Capitol everybody. :]**

* * *

**Nitya Allardyce, 12 - District 3 female**

**Cyberium**

**Chariot Preparation**

* * *

I am ushered into a large room separated into cells by curtains. People bustle to and fro. A few of the others are already being prepared. My feet drag as I look around. Three people dressed in Capitol attire - one with a rainbow braid wrapped around her head and bright pink lashes that swirl towards her forehead, a man with green and red streaked hair and black eyes, and a tiny woman with black outlined lips, bright violet dyed skin, sky blue eyes, and a tattoo of an eagle across her face- approach, grabbing me by the arms. They are squawking all at once about how they're going to wash, rinse and lather the filth of District Three away, to make me beautiful. The one with the rainbow hair frets over my freckles, and another one inspects my arms as they pull me into one of the cubicles.

My prep team orders me to disrobe. I begrudgingly do so as they introduce themselves. Rainbow hair is called Celia Bloom, the one with black eyes is Philander Quill (he insists on just calling him Phil) and the one with the eagle tattoo is named Fanfy Eck. I just smile and nod politely. They have me lay down on the metal table after inspecting me quickly.

"Lucky for you," Phil says, his stupid accent making my skin crawl and my toes curl, "you're still young, so we won't have to remove too much hair." e covers me in warm stuff that makes my skin tingle unpleasantly as they go about waxing my body. Fanfy my face, Celia my arms and legs, and Philander my torso.

My hands clutch at the table so hard my knuckles whiten, as I feel the paper pi;; up every follicle of unwanted hair from my body.

"What am I going to be dressed up as?" I ask through gritted teeth, trying to find something to distract me, _anything_, even conversing with these pricks.

"That is for Ratveer to decide," Fenfey chirps conversationally.

"Probably something to do with technology," Celia adds.

"Obviously," Phil says, rolling his eyes, "it is her District specialty." I mostly tune out their annoying gossip as they finish preparing me. A quick haircut. A manicure and pedicure.

After that is done, they allow me up. I put on my robe, eyebrows still stinging as a man with fiery red hair -obviously dyed-, orange lips, yellow eyelashes, and a tattoo of a water lily around his neck. approaches.

"Hello, Nitya," Ratveer says, smiling at me. His voice is soft, but the ever-present Capitol accent remains there. Though it's not nearly as annoying without the high-pitched squawking that most of the Capitol citizens use.

"You must be my stylist," I say softly. He nods.

"My name is Ratveer Theren. Come with me, I want to show you what you and your partner will be wearing." I follow him quickly as he turns on a dime and walks across the room to a small door.

Inside the door is a small room. He presses a button and four holograms appear. Two of me, a front and profile, and two of Sebastian at the same angles.

On them are tight black jumpsuits with yellow, pulsing lights on out arms, legs and torsos. At our ankles, wrists and necks, wires come out in frayed bunches. A head piece dons us both. It is a wrath crown made by carefully weaved wires. I've definitely seen worse, I must admit.

"Now, if you would kindly disrobe, I'd like to look you over," he states. I sheepishly obey. He circles me, taking in every detail with a scrutinous eye.

?"You and Sebastian are of very different sizes as well as body structures," he says thoughtfully, "you'll look like a baby next to him. I will have to put you in some heels so you don't look so small." I nod in understanding.

"Well, I'll go get your costume. You may do wait with the prep team so they can do you hair and makeup." I nod.

"Thank you," I murmur.

I return to the prep team. I am allowed to remain in my robe this time. Celia starts washing my hair, which feels very good having my scalp lathered like this, Phil goes on about my makeup, and Fanfy decorates me nails with bolts of electricity against a black background..

Once Celia finishes washing my hair, she dries and curls it. Phil begins to apply blush to my pale cheeks, along with yellow mascara and black eyeliner. The focus of my makeup is not on my eyes, but the whole of my face. frighteningly realistic bolts of energy branch out from a center point on my face, covering my face with streaks of blue light. When I am all prepped, I get into the outfit -which does not look all that bad- and look at myself in the full-body mirror.

The creature I see before me is not human. She is a ruler of electricity and technology. Her eyes blaze and her hair shines as it falls in waves over her shoulders.

"Wow," I breathe. It may not get as much applause as the ever-popular Careers, but it is certainly one of the best from District Three I have seen since the Games started.

* * *

**Metro Davis, 16 - District 6 male**

**madge711**

**Chariot Preparation**

* * *

I am shuffled around by my preparation team most of the morning. I lie on a steel table as two attendants hover over my head. One of them removes the hair from my face the other trimming my hair. I let my mind wander to home as I clutch the locket Leyna made for me and ignore the attendants' mindless chatter.

Once they finish with my head one does down to my feet to scrub my toes and the other comes over to my one arm.

"I have to clean your nails now," she says with a high voice. I lay the locket on my chest and lay out my hand to her.

"So… What happened to your left arm?" she asks me.

"Diana!" the other attendant shrieks.

"What?" says Diana, "I'm just curious!"

"It's alright," I reply, "I lost it in an accident working in the factories."

"You know the Capitol could probably get you a prosthetic, that way you can have a fair chance against the other tributes," Diana says cheerfully.

I feel anger rising inside me and I clench my hand into a fist, pulling my fingers away from her, "I don't need it!" I say through gritted teeth, "I am perfectly fine, and skilled how I am now."

Diana's face goes pale, "I... I..," she stutters, "I didn't mean any offense by it."

I still glare at her, but unclench my hand so she can finish her work. But I don't speak to either of them again.

Finally when they are done I am left alone to await my stylist, and after few minutes he comes through the door. He dresses mildly compared to many other Capitol people, he wears all white and has bleached hair giving his colored contacts a piercing look compared to the rest of his outfit.

As he gets closer I get a better look at his eyes they are a greenish blue color, and they seem to hold some sort of design.

"Hello Metro," he says taking my hand and giving it a good shake, "my name is Cecil and I will be your stylist," I nod in response so he continues, "I have something here that I think you are going to love," and a smile spreads across his face.

...

I stand stiffly by Aran, my costume making me very uncomfortable. After all the hours of preparation and time spent with Cecil, I stand in a black suit-with no sleeves, that has a little train attached. It's kind of cool, the mechanics of it I mean.

The train is on a little track that swivels all over my torso, always moving. It is very uncomfortable and awkward though. I think Cecil understood me without having to be told, that I am just as strong as anyone else. That I am not just crippled, ugh, I hate that word!

When he brought out the suit with the sleeves cut off fraying on the edges I was surpised, "We got to show off those muscles you have there," he said, but really I think he knows my lack of arm isn't something I want to hide and when I looked in the mirror at the final product I was so impressed by his work.

I didn't look like a pathetic cripple. I was tough and strong... I look intimidating and confident.

I mindlessly let my mind wander as the train makes it's way to my back. I walk around to the front of the chariot and stroke one of the gray horse's heads.

As I do I look around at the other tributes admiring their costumes, seeing some creative... and not so creative outfits. Suddenly my eyes catch and hold those of the boy from District five.

He is small; he must be the twelve year old. There is at least one every year. My heart automatically goes out to him, my instincts to protect him like I would Lenya is so strong and hard to fight.

I almost found myself running over to him grabbing him by the hand and running away, but I fight off the urge. I try not to look at the boy again, afraid I might lose my cool .and focus on the horse in front of me. I stroke the spot right between his eyes and he nudges me with his head and I stumble backward bumping into Clover.

"Oh!" he says surprised, "why Metro! You look amazing!" he continues when he finally observed my outfit, "why aren't you two a stunning pair! Now the parade is about to begin so hop into the chariot you too!"

I climb in and stand next to Aran, and we share a nervous glance, and I flash her a reassuring smile.

"Now remember first impressions are very important so smile wave whenever you want, just make sure you get their attention," says Clover. As he finishes the chariots begin to slowly move forward leaving him behind us.

"Good Luck!" he calls after us. Aran grips the chariot with both hands unsure of her balance, and I stand my ground.

Confident

* * *

**Catalaia Boyd, 16 - District 7 female**

**DanaRulezTheWorld**

**Chariot Preparation**

* * *

When we step off the train, I'm blinded by flashing cameras, people saying my name, and Acton pushing me forward.

"Where am I going?" I ask.

"Chariot prep. Oliver left with Clementina. She didn't want to be around you," he chuckled. Acton is young still, in his twenties. He has creme colored skin, green eyes and brown hair. He steers me toward the doors, and I'm greeted by a trio of people.

A woman with golden hair. Literally, gold streaks inside of silver. She is also rocking silver skin, yellow eyes, and piercings everywhere. Nose, stomach, ears, eyebrows, everywhere. She wears short black shorts, and a black half-top. Spiked black six-inch heels top it off. Her name is Maine.

Next there's a man who went overboard on a tab. Either that, or he purposely colored his skin burnt orange. He wears tight purple leather pants, and a golden shirt not buttoned up past his stomach. Golden chains hang from his neck, and purple lip stick coats his lips. His name is Crest.

Then there's another man, with pink curly hair, pink contacts, pink pants and shirt... pink everything. His skin is a pale pink too, but his nails are black, along with his lips and eye liner. He introduces himself as Jorgin.

"They're going to prep you, and get you ready for the chariot ride. Then, you, your stylist, Oliver and his team will meet me and Clementina by your chariot, for the send off. Good luck." He whispers the last part in my ear. I look at him.

"Hey wait! What're- oomph." I'm pushed down onto a chair, and the three hover over me.

"Let's start that face," Crest says, pulling out a jar of what appears to be dirt.

"What are you doing?" I ask uneasily.

"They're going to love you honey."

I wince as another strip of hair is ripped from my leg.

"She's not a whiney one. Like last year. Ugh. Last year," Maine says. Last year was a twelve year old girl who was sensitive to pain. Really sensitive. So I take the opportunity to kick Maine in the nose. I give a fake apologetic smile.

"Oops. Reflex." Maine doesn't look like she's buying it, but shakes her head nonetheless. Bad idea. Blood dribbles down her nose and she screams. It takes everything not to burst into laughter. She's jumping around, screaming and crying. Crest gets her some tissues, and tells her to knock her head back. She leaves the room for medical attention, and what's left of my team continues to work on my body.

"Thank you," Jorgin says finally.

"Hmm?" I ask.

"Someone needed to knock some sense into her. She's absolutely the most annoying thing to walk earth," he chuckles. Crest hits him with a towel he was using to dry my hair.

"Oh stop it you. I'll tell her, I will," He says, but by the playful tone in his voice, I can tell he won't. I watch as they slowly go about tying my hair up, and applying dirt smudges on my arms and have. Red paint is also applied, looking like blood. Like I'm fresh out of battle. Out of the arena.. Black mascara and eyeliner, a bit of salve for my lips, but nothing special. They hand me a brown robe, and stand back.

"Is she ready for Vianey?" Crest asks. Jorgin nods.

"Yes, call her in," he agrees. Crest presses a button on a small speaker.

"Vianey, she's ready honey."

"Good, good. I'll be in a minute," she replies. Crest and Jorgin scan me over quickly, then nod in approval.

"Good luck," and with that, they're gone from the room. I cross over to the giant window and look out over the city. It's beautiful and I can only wish I was here on another occasion.

"Bastards, the lot of 'em," I growl. I consider throwing myself out. I give a gulp. The glass looks fragile, like it's break with a single shoulder check. I'm seriously considering it, when I hear the door open. At first, I'm blinded, then I focus my eyes. Neon yellow heels, a matching dress and neon pink hair and lips. Tattoos in different neon colors run up and down her arms, and she has orange contacts in.

"Hello," she says. When she speaks, in surprised to hear a relatively normal voice.

"H-h-hello," I stutter.

"I brought the outfit. You'll look stunning," she smiles. She takes a pair of brown cargo brown pants, and tells me to put them on. After that, I'm handed a white shirt, covered in dirt and fake blood. I slip it on, and lace up the black combat boots she gave me. Finally, as an accessory, she hands me a axe. A real one. Like my outfit, it's covered in blood and dirt.

"Perfect. Go on. Take a look," she says. I turn around in the mirror and gasp.

"Hate to admit, but it's... awesome," I say.

"Glad you like. C'mon, we have to meet Oliver, his stylist and Acton by the chariot," she says, and grasps my shoulder.

"Remember," she whispers, "look broken, angry, and battle worn. They'll love you honey."

When we arrive at the Chariots, Acton helps me on.

"Where are they?" Clementina asks angrily. She's been staying behind Acton or Vianey, staying away from me.

"Glue and gems take awhile, relax Clem." Vianey assures.

"Wait... gems and glue? We're not wearing the same outfit?" I ask, swinging my legs over the edge of chariot.

"No... we're trying something different this year. Every tribute is supposed to have a different outfit," Acton explains.

"What if they don't?" I ask, eating some sugar cubes I found in the chariot.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Clementina scolds.

"Don't talk to me. Really, for your own safety," I sigh, and she clears her throat.

"I'm going to be over with District 12," she says.

"Don't have fun!" I call after her.

"Why do you hate her?" Vianey asks.

"I hate anyone from the Capitol," I say automatically. I instantly regret my words, as Vianey's face falls. Oliver and his stylist choose that moment to show up. I choke on a sugar cube and laughter. He's decked in a brown bodysuit, which is covered in green leaves bedazzled by crystals. He has glittery green shoes and a green wreath around his head.

"What the fuck?" I ask, after I've caught my breath from laughing so hard.

"Shut up," he says plainly.

"Aye aye cap'n," I say, but snicker as he climbs onto the chariot next to me.

"District 1 leaves in five, go on, up you go," his stylist says. I settle my ax over my shoulder, and stand up straight. I pull on a look of victory, pain, and war hurt.

"Let's do this!" I hear Vianey scream, as our chariot positions.

* * *

**Brandon Heath, 12 - District 9 male**

**The Mockingjay Lives**

**Chariot Preparation**

* * *

_"Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months."_

_-Oscar Wilde_

* * *

"Hold still, you little bugger," mutters Quintus.

Maybe I want to be in the Hunger Games, but this part is no fun at all. Quintus, Aemilia, and Bacchus have all been pulling out my hair.

Not most of the hair on my head, but my eyebrows and pretty much everywhere else. There's a small brown pile of hair on the floor.

"Ow! Ouch! Stop it!" I swat at Aemilia's orange hands. "I'm tired of not wearing any clothes and I'm tired of all of you pulling out my hair. It hurts."

I grab the thin blue robe they let me wear sometimes, pull it on, and start to leave the room.

"No, no, Brandon! We have to get you ready so you can go on the chariot and everyone can see you. Lie down again."

Bacchus is speaking to me slowly and carefully, as if I'm an infant. How demeaning. My nostrils flare as I pronounce my words with precision.

"I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request. Just because I am twelve years old does not mean I can't understand you."  
He looks startled, and Aemilia giggles. "Shown up by a little kid, Bacchus, you were. Shame on you."

My prep team has no sense. I think their heads are full of fluff. If I had Mr. Pokey right now...well, things would not end well for them. Speaking of Mr. Pokey, it feels like they are vigorously scraping me with him as they cover my whole body with ointment. The ointment is stinging.

"Oww! When is my stylist going to get here? Surely he won't torture me this much?" Torture. Is this really what torturing feels like? Is this what all the creatures I've cut apart have felt like? I know their pain. I pity them. But not enough to not want to keep doing it.

They ignore me, and keep on twittering about fashion and whatnot. Whatnot again! I love that word! Whatnot. Notwhat. Nitwit.

I giggle, and they seem to think I'm amused. Well, I am, but not by them moisturizing me.

"There, see? You feel fine now, sweetie. Just stay still and Cornelia will be here soon," coos Aemilia.  
I feel fine? Seriously? I take it back, there isn't any fluff in their heads. There's nothing. Nothing except fashion, ridiculous fashion at that, if you can even call it fashion. I call it a mess.

Finally, they finish and leave the room. I cheer up considerably. Now then, let's see these tools they were using. The clippers they pulled out some of my hair with will do nicely as a weapon. I can also pour the stinging ointment into people's eyes, and I could snip off their fingers with these scissors- oh, that'll be fun- and I can just snip off the president's toes until he lets me skip ahead into the arena! No training, because that's unnecessary for me. No interview, because I don't want to reveal my secrets. And no more styling!

"What are you doing?"

A tall, garishly colored woman is standing in the doorway, holding an outfit in a bag. Her hair is crimson and her clothes are varying shades of green. That is the weirdest outfit I've ever seen, and I've seen Desaree Lilacia.

"Uh, hello," I say, giggling feebly, hoping she doesn't question why I'm holding an armload of styling supplies. "I presume you are Cornelia?"

"Yes, I am," she says curtly, sweeping over to me and taking the supplies away. "What in Panem's name are you doing, boy? These are not yours to take. These are my things."

"Sorry," I mutter. She grabs my hand with pointy orange fingernails and pulls me into a different room. There's a table of delicious-smelling food, and my mouth immediately begins to water. I haven't had any food since hours ago, on the train, and that was just a plate of sweet things called cookies. Yummy, but not filling. I'm a growing boy who needs sustenance.

"Eat, quickly, and I'll give you your outfit afterward."

I fill up on cookies, sour drinks that bubble in my mouth, and a rich red cake. Not very healthy, but who cares? I've never had food like this before.

When I finish, she whisks me back into the other room where I was styled. She surveys me like I'm a luscious piece of cake. She removes the outfit from the bag.

"What? No way am I wearing that!" I say incredulously. "Have you ever heard of modesty?"

There's a knee-length loincloth woven out of real wheat. That by itself is ridiculous. But coupled with the tribal headdress and its peacock fan of wheat, rice, and barley...I'll be a laughingstock. I can't wear it.

"Have you ever heard of manners?" she snaps. "I go to all this trouble to craft a beautiful outfit, then you-"

"A- ha, a what? A ha, ehee, beau-beautiful outfit- trouble to- craft-"

Her words are lost in my laughter. I'm laughing so hard I almost fall down. Is she kidding? She's got to be kidding.

"Beautiful outfit? Took trouble to craft? My four year old sister could make this in her sleep with one hand tied behind her back! It's woven grain, look!" I tear it in half. She gasps and grabs the two halves, staring at it in shock.

"My beautiful creation! You've ruined it!"

"No, I haven't," I say between giggles. "See?" I take both halves and start weaving the wheat stalks together again. Within a minute, it's good as new.

With nothing to say, she grunts irritably, and helps me put it on. She mounts the headdress atop my fluffy hair.

"There. All done. Run away, now, and don't tear any other costumes." Cornelia stomps off in a huff.

"Hey, Crazy Cat."

Paiton steps through the doorway, and I press my lips together so I won't giggle. Sure, her yellow dress is great. If you're ten years old instead of sixteen. It's way shorter than any dress I've seen before, ending above her knees. It's covered with so many pieces of grain, it's more grain than dress. Her hair is in a french braid with wheat woven in. I feel a strong urge to pull the braid, because it looks like a tail.

"Rat tail."

The words pop out of my mouth before I can stop them. She scowls.

"Excuse me?"

"Your hair- it's like a rat tail." I snicker. "You're a rat."

"You aren't any better. You're so skinny I can almost see through you."

She pokes me in the chest, hard. "I can see every one of your ribs. That loincloth looks terrible, skinny cat."

"Rat!"

"Cat!"

"Cats eat rats!" I lunge for her, mouth open wide. My teeth sink into her arm, and she shrieks, trying to shake me off.

"He's biting me! Brandon is biting me!" I hold on, my teeth in a death grip on her arm. Cats eat rats, don't they? Cats eat rats!

"What is going on here?"

Cornelia steps back into the room, glaring at me. I look up guiltily, my teeth buried in Paiton's arm. I finally release her, leaving her with red teeth marks.

"What was that for?" she yells. They're both glaring at me.

"Cats eat rats," I offer weakly. It doesn't help.

* * *

**Imogene Guthrie, 15 - District 10 female**_  
_

**Nrrd-Grrl-Meg**

**Chariot Preparation**

* * *

_"Beauty provokes harassment, the law says, but it looks through men's eyes when deciding what provokes it." - Naomi Wolf_

* * *

I am drowning; my bubbles are rising to a surface I can no longer reach. I want to scream and shout, to do more than just thrash out at everyone around me. They don't really see me, not the real me. They see a backwoods country girl, the daughter of a whore – a victim. The victim has never been a role that I am comfortable with, so now that the Capitol is trying to saddle me with it, thanks to the actions of their appointed 'Peacekeeper', it is making my stomach churn in anger. A large part of me blames myself. If only I hadn't gotten lippy with Carrion, if only I had stopped there and not hit him.

If only...

My stylist, Frazier, seemed to have my best interests in mind. He sent Tagger, his hulking, green one-man prep team out of the prep station after I started having a panic attack when he tried to remove my clothes without explaining why. Of course, that was before Tagger screamed for help, something about not wanting to lose a tribute before the games and two Peacekeepers descended on me, which only made the situation worse. Flashes of what Carrion did to me came to the forefront of my mind; his lips forcing themselves on my own, his hands traveling where they wanted, the smell of whiskey on his breath and passing into my own. I lashed out blindly, and when I came to, the woman was sprawled out on the ground and the male was being held up by the jolly green giant.

Frazier comforted me, promised to use special makeup to make the bruises go away. He's new to the game, coming from District One's prep team for the past few years and this was his first chance at stylist. And, of course, he was happy to have a pretty one to work with. He dressed me up as a sexy cowgirl, with a vest and skirt set dripping with light-catching jewels that made me sparkle from the inside out and topped it off with a ten gallon hat and boots made of real leather. It made me cringe, thinking of all the cows that had to die to make my boots (maybe one, two?), but I wasn't about to spit in the face of a friend.

And then he dropped the bombshell.

For the past six years, District Ten has been barnyard animals. Horses and cows, and once we were farmers. Now, he is using me to further his career, to make himself look good by making me look good. I shouldn't take this personally, as he is only human, but he is a Capitolite making a name for himself off of my blood and body. While he didn't touch me or force himself on me (hell, he wouldn't even wash my body after I cowered at his sudden movements), he isn't that far off from Carrion. Carrion used me to gain leverage with my mother. Frazier is using me to get back to District One, by using my 'not being a homely milkmaid' and the Luxury District's love of jewels against them. Even from my spot on my Chariot, I can see the handy work of his former employers and I can't help but laugh at the District One male, who was wearing just enough to keep the show 'family friendly', but not enough to cover his shame. Suddenly my slutty cowgirl outfit seemed tame.

"Hey there, cowgirl," a familiar voice called to me, bringing the first smile to my face since I climbed into bed with my mother after Carrion made what I thought were idle threats. "Goin' my way?"

Rex. My former savior and soon to be enemy. The jewels on his Indian costume matched mine, making us look like a set of sparkling twin deities of a time long past and with any luck, we will one day be remembered and worshiped as such. With a faux bow in hand, he looked ready to go to battle, while I looked more like a damsel in distress. Gotta love these gender-specific roles!

"Just get in the chariot, Kingston," I reply, the ghost of a smile spread across my face as he climbed into the chariot. "The quicker we finish this, the faster we get to sacrifice our lives for the good of no one in particular."

"Same ol' Genie," he teased, sliding a lock of hair out of my face. "Always looking on the bright side."

"Same ol' Kingston," I retort, knocking his hand away. "You've always been quite the hero type, no matter what odds are against you."

For a brief moment, he looked as though he was going to respond, letting our playful banter make light of this pageantry of bullshit. For a brief moment, I saw the light in his eyes blow out and it is something I can do without ever seeing again. I am used to my own inner demons that live to frolic in the forefront of my mind, but Rex is supposed to be better than I am, better than us all. If he loses it, how can any of us hold it together?

Just as I gain the courage to ask him what was wrong, the horses lurched forward and took off out of the gate and into the streets. The roar of the crowd is deafening, their response madness and bordering on embarrassing. Who in their right minds would find something remotely scream-worthy over a bunch of kids being forced to play dress-up after being stripped over everything that made them who they are, removed any and all artifacts that might remind us of the lives we are leaving behind?

Next to me, Rex shifted uncomfortably, until finally, he tossed his bow to the side. It landed on the street and caused people to start looking in our general direction. They still cheered for the other, more popular tributes, but it wasn't enough to keep their eyes from glazing over us like we were nothing but a meal to them.

"Rex? What are you doing?"

His eyes went serious, which took me by surprise. "This...all of this...this is our moment. If either one of us is to survive, we have to take a stand."

And, with that, his lips met mine.


	14. Chariot Rides

**Paiton Rais, 16 - District 9 female**

**I've got cookies**

**Chariot Ride**

* * *

I am sitting alone in this rather dark room, there is only one lamp hanging from the ceiling. The walls are covered with dark grey metal. I try to lean back, only to recoil from the cold wall. Cold just like Capitol people who are probably excited to see us all tonight.

I hope someone will come soon to dress me, I am getting pretty cold with only one thin gown on me. I wonder where they get the money to make the games every year? Seriously. Or someone just makes the arenas for free, makes the costumes for free. Oh silly me. Sure, the stylists get payed, who would do this stupid job for free?

"Hello, I believe you are Paiton!" what? This is my stylist? Really Capitol? He has short, neat hair. Okay I can live with that, but the color. Just no! Half of it is azure blue, the other half is lime green. In the middle both colors mix neatly. His face is - or should be, who knows - pale. With the same azure blue tattooed straight lines from the bottom of his chin, over his right cheek and up to his right temple.

He is wearing a grey tight shirt with huge, pink bow tie. His pants are matching his pink bow tie. At least his shoes seem normal, until I spot a small light light up every three seconds.

"And I believe you are my _oh-so-great_ stylist," I say in mocking voice, "what would be your _wonderful_ name?" I continue to mock, just now adding a badly done Capitol accent.

The stylist looks startled by what I just said, "Pontius," he pauses for a second, "look, I see we aren't going to get along. And I aren't one of those stylists who make you strip from your pathetic gown."

My slightly jaw drops. He is even worse than me. Still this isn't the case, "What will you make me wear?"

"This dress," he takes a yellow dress from a small wardrobe that is made into the wall. I didn't even spot the wardrobe before. It's doors are the same metallic color as the walls.

The dress seems pretty simple and actually kind of nice and wear-able. Too wear-able. There must be something that will ruin it for sure.

"What is the _trick_?" I raise both of my eyebrows. I wonder how old is he. I'm guessing 24 to 26. Somewhere around that.

"Trick?"

"Yes, what is going to ruin the dress?"

"So you aren't stupid. Nothing is going to ruin this, it is going to be upgraded. When you will get that thing on you I'll start to glue wheat to it. Understand?"

"Aren't you supposed to make me look good?" I spit at him.

"Nothing can make _you_ look good. Only a paper bag over that ugliness!"

"Umm, what?" I pause for a second, "I am probably one of the most prettiest girls here, you should be happy to work with me and my district!" by now I am yelling at that jerky ass-hole.

"Your district is just another peace of fucked up shit! Just. Like. You!" he will wish he never said that!

"What now? Just wait until I get back from the games-"

Pontius interrupts me suddenly, "In a wooden box!"

"Shut up! And if you think my district is SO bad, why are you even here now?"

"Because that is the worst damn district!" he starts to yell at me now. "Every new stylist gets assigned to the worst district. That is why I am here!"

"Why not quit then?" I continue to argue with that bastard.

"I don't want to talk to your stupid face anymore, I'm leaving!" he turns around on his heel and heads out the automatic door. Good, I don't want to that jerk-ass either.

"Looser," I mutter. I sit there for few minutes alone. So he's not coming back? Whatever.

I take the dress from the hanger. Okay, I'm not wearing it without any underwear.

I slide my fingers across the wall to find the wardrobe. Suddenly I feel a gap in the wall that I couldn't see with my eyes. I fumble around a bit to find the handle of the wardrobe.

As I open it I find it empty. Great! What could else go possibly wrong?

"Hey, here's something else for you," that idiot Pontius dares to come in again? But then again, there is something in his hand, a small bag.

"I don't need your help!" I spit at him, but still take the bag.

"That would be lovely, but Desaree heard us yelling at each other, she really likes you and your district partner. So as the district. And she asked me if we could go on without arguing."

I would never do anything in favor of a Capitolite. But now Desaree is responsible for my sponsors and their help. Basically I can't mess this all up now.

"I'll try, when she is not around."

"Just my thoughts," he looks at the bag in my hands, "I'll go now. The prep team will come to fix that dress and do your hair in few minutes"

"You better go. I don't want your annoying presence messing up my games."

…

When I'm done with getting the dress onto me my prep team rushes through the door. Two of them are males, one is female. I don't know their names, I don't care enough to listen.

Their chatter soon becomes a blurry sound to me.

On the train I saw the reaping re-caps. Both from One volunteered, but neither of then looked like the District one people. No blond hair, no green or blue eyes. No nothing.

From Two only the male volunteered. The girl seemed strong, but scarred, that she is chosen. And the boy was only fifteen. Like what's up with that.

From three both reaped, the little girl was twelve. _Yay_, Crazy Cat will have a little friend. I thought that until I saw Five's reaping. Forget the little girl, there was a twelve-year-old who volunteered.

Whatever, both from Four volunteered, both probably trained as hell and ready to slice. Well boo-hoo, I'm ready to slice too.

No regrets. I promised Ethan I'll win, I have to do that now. Okay, after I saw the re-caps there was only tiny doubt that I won't win.

"All done!" the woman declares. One of the man opens the wardrobe completely, on the inside of the door is a mirror. Oh, how nice.

But the thought is killed the same moment I see my outfit. There is no dress left, only grain glued to it. My jaw drops. And not in the good way.

The woman puts a pair of flats in front of me, they are also covered in wheat. I slowly put my feet in them.

"Oh look, she likes it!" the other man says in joy.

I hate it! And that is far from love!

"Now we will do your hair, make up and nails. Okay?" the woman asks.

I don't respond. They seat me in the chair and start to do their stuff.

…

After a while they are done. My hair are in a french braid once again, now only with wheat in it. They are mushed up, so it looks like I have more hair than I actually have.

For my makeup my natural eyelashes are supplemented with fake ones that are not so long at the corners of my eyes, but get longer at the other side of them. The eyelashes have black mascara in general, only with little bit of golden mascara at the tips.

There are golden eye shadows on my eyelids.

My nails have different shades of golden stripes on them.

"Thanks, I think I should go now!" I quickly slide out of the room into a small is no one here besides me. A door close to my right slowly open, I spot some wheat through the small opening.

_Oh I know it's you, Crazy Cat!_

With few light steps I make my way to the doorway.

"Hey, Crazy Cat," I greet Brandon. I step into the doorway.

I look at his outfit. If wouldn't be so pissed and all I would laugh. I mean, his thing is woven out of real wheat. And there is a peacock fan made out of grain on his head. I look great compared to him. Whatever.

As I scan him over I spot a smile making it's way onto his face. I must look bad too.

"Rat tail," he suddenly says. What the hell?

"Excuse me?"

"Your hair- it's like a rat tail, you're a rat," he giggles.

"You aren't any better. You're so skinny I can almost see through you," wow, that is the best insult I can come up with. Still, I poke him in the chest, "I can see every one of your ribs. That loincloth looks terrible, skinny cat."

"Rat!"

"Cat!"

"Cats eat rats!" Brandon lunges at me, his mouth wide open. Then his teeth stings my right hand. The same second I try to shake him off.

"He's biting me! Brandon is biting me!" what he hell is he thinking?

"What is going on here?" a woman I don't know brakes or fight. With his teeth stuck into my arm, he looks up at the woman, looking guilty. Then he finally releases me.

"What was that for?" I yell and join the woman in glaring at Crazy Cat. He seriously is crazy!

"Cats eat rats."

I turn around on my heel, ready to go away.

"Where is Pontius?" the woman asks.

"Don't know, don't care." I snap.

"Well, you should both be off to the chariots," the woman says.

I slightly moan and follow her. She must be Crazy Cat's stylist, she came out of the same room.

…

We both are seated into the chariot. I couldn't say that all of the costumes are terrible. Two has it good, so does One. Then a crippled boy catches my attention, he has a train going around him. But that is not the point.

He has only one arm. He's dead already. Careers probably find him as easy target. Actually, so have I. Interesting.

And then there is another surprise. A boy in a wheelchair. I think it's a boy, he is completely black. Literally from head to toes. What is wrong this year, why so many easy targets. They don't stand a chance.

The anthem starts to play and the chariots are leaving the room we are all in, District one is out. So is Two. And after few minutes our chariot starts to move. Then I see it.

The Capitol. It's colorful citizens. There must be thousands and thousands of people watching us. They cheer, laugh and applaud. My jaw drops.

I start to wave my hand as I have seen it on TV, but my mouth is still open is surprise. I should probably start smiling, first impression is always the most important one.

There is this great feeling, I cannot stop smiling. The anthem, the cheering people. All of that together. This is _awesome_!

I look down at Brandon, he is smiling and waving too, he is seriously enjoying the games and the Capitol. It's not his fault he is insane. I should probably spare his life in the arena, not only because he's my district partner, but because... I don't know. I just won't kill him. Unless it will be completely necessary.

The chariots start to form in some kind of a half circle, then they stop completely. I look up, just like everyone else, to see President Cross there beginning his speech.

"Welcome, welcome! Tributes, we welcome you! And we salute courage and your sacrifice," President Cross pauses and the Capitolites start to cheer once again, "and we wish you happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

The chariots start to move, the smile slowly fades from my face as I remember where I am and what this is all about.

The chariot takes up back to the room where we were before the parade.

"Well, how was it?" Desaree approaches us, then locks us in a tight hug.

"Perfect! Unforgettable! I can't describe!" Crazy Cat manages to say before me.

"It was okay," I add with a small shrug. The last thing I need is them thinking I enjoy the games and that I like the Capitol. Nope, still hateful.

"Now, let's get you guys out of those charming outfits. They look so great on you two!" Desaree says and touches my shoulder. Why do I think she likes my dress better than Crazy Cat's _thing_? Because it's probably so, "Now come, come children. We need to get to the ninth floor, that's going to be your home for a whole week."

I keep my face calm, but on the inside I am yelling. My only home is my district, not some fancy Capitol place I hate before I've seen it.

I cannot describe in words how much I hate it all, how wrong it is.

* * *

**Rex Kingston, 16 – District 10 male**

**Sixty9ing Chipmunks**

**Chariot Ride**

* * *

The roar of the crowd was infectious; it was hard not to get swept up in the moment. Melpomene, my stylist, tried to warn me about it, but she just couldn't do it justice. I've always been better when there was a crowd around; singing little songs to make the lives of my sisters just a little better, siphoning strength from others when I charge in to protect someone who was suffering. I guess that makes me a hero in people's eyes, but there is more to me than that. I bleed, just like anyone else, and I guess the Hunger Games are going to be out to prove it.

As our chariot glides through the streets, the people of the Capitol shout out their favorites' names and throw roses in their direction. More than a few land at District One's feet, even more so at District Four. Every once and again, I even hear a few people call the name of the boy from District Seven, Oliver it sounds like, and the fool didn't even respond. If we don't take a stand now, all the trinkets and all the glory will go to the Careers and perpetuate the idea that only they should be named the victor. You'd think he'd understand, since his District actually has a win and is the only one of us "outer districts" that have one.

It was at that moment that I knew I had to get District Ten noticed. Sure, we have costumes never-before seen by the likes of us, but glowing when the light hits us the right way isn't going to help us. The costumes are just that – masking who we really are. If we are to get far in these games...

I have to take my stand.

My bow, as much as I love it, goes flying outside of the Chariot, but I can not hear it land over the chants. This causes Imogene to glare at me.

"Rex? What are you doing?"

It's now or never. "This – all of this – this is our moment. If either one of us is going to survive, we have to take a stand."

My body was running on pure instinct and adrenaline as I grabbed her back the back of the head and my lips found her own. At first, she fought against me, but for a brief second, she gave in too and my heart nearly burst from my chest. And, just as quickly as it began, it was over and her eyes lit up with the fire usually reserved for those that give her hell for what her mother does to survive Panem. My head began to spin and I knew I couldn't bank on just the kiss alone. No, we have to make a real splash.

Making quick work of the front of the chariot, I pulled myself up top, my body teetering and swaying, trying to hold onto some sort of balance. The crowd gasped, I even thought I saw a woman faint, but I kept moving. Our dark brown horses, which I had nicknamed chocolate and buttercup out of child-like amusement, moved along without a sense of what I was about to do.

"DISTRICT TEN!"

Before the adrenaline could kick out and my senses came to me, I took a leap of faith (literally and figuratively) and landed with a thud on the back of the horse. Faintly, over the new-found cheers for my home district, I can hear Imogene's shrill screams of protest over what I had just done. She wouldn't understand, not completely. I've always been the one that never stepped out of line, so – predictable. Until I was reaped, my life was mapped out ahead of me; work the slaughterhouses until my father's knee is better, go back to school and eventually marry Marlene Jones, my best friend, and repeat the process that my father had done before me. The Hunger Games put a spike in my future and that of Imogene's and either of us is going to go far, this is what needed to be done. For once, District Ten is going to stand out among all the rest. District Ten will be all that anyone is talking about.

This time around, District Ten will win.

Once we arrived at the town center, my horse came to a sudden stop that nearly threw me from it. It took everything in me to steady myself, before staring up and into the eyes of the man responsible for my being here. President Adrian Cross, the only man that has enough power to scare even someone as strong as my father, glared down at me, his eyes not amused by my actions. However, he didn't bring any sort of acknowledgment to what I had done and instead, continued on with his usual Chariot Race speech.

"Welcome, Tributes, to the Seventh Annual Hunger Games!"

The crowd roared to life once again, ignoring my little stunt for his cheap pop.

"We salute your courage and your sacrifice," he continued, his eyes never leaving my own. "We wish you all a happy Hunger Games and-"

I can't help but feel a sickness burning in the back of my throat and the pit of my stomach.

"May the odds be ever in your favor."

With that, we were sent back to the remake center, where our stylists and Synthe waited for me with crazed looks on their faces. As I lower myself from the horse and start my way over to them to explain my actions, I am stopped and spun around quickly. A hand meets the side of my face, slapping the taste out of my mouth.

"You fucker!" Her voice echoes around the remake center and now, all eyes were on us. "You of all people know-"

Then, without removing her costume, she ran straight for the elevator and disappeared.

No one moved, no one spoke. The little boy in the loincloth from Nine giggled, the huge kid from One had a smirk on his face that I wanted to wipe clear away. Before anyone has a chance to make a remark, I beat them to it.

"Well, if that slap is any indication on how she is going to be in the arena, you might as well crown her the victor now and save everyone the trouble," my voice stays firm, despite the blood that trickles from my nose. "As you all were."

And with that, District Ten is forgotten once more.


	15. Night After Chariot Ride

**Oliver Cerese, 17 - District 7 male**

**Faith-o-saurus**

**Night After Chariot Ride**

* * *

A good thing about the District 12 tributes is that they get the last floor and easy access to the roof. It makes sense that they get the last, obviously; they are numbered 1-12. I idly wonder if they're also given it because they have the least to work with. Their tributes are never trained, not even through the nature of their district. I have heard that they don't start work until they are of age.

I move my thoughts back to a plan to make it to the roof. There must be some way to get up there, but I'm too worn out to work hard enough. Maybe another day, when I'm not still sour about the Chariot Ride the night before. The way these bastards cheer and throw gifts, it makes absolutely no sense to me. A normal tribute would probably feel wounded because they find such entertainment in the deaths of children, but I'm more concerned about why they even waste their time. It's not like we get to keep the gifts or bask in their appreciation; again, it's time wasted.

If I were to live in the Capitol I guess I might act the same way – the environment plays a big role – but if I were to be myself, I'd laugh at how absurd they all look. Beautiful flowers I could present to my lover, jewels to be worn to an extravagant party or ball, kisses to be used on those close. They might have the money to waste such things, but either way, it is illogical. It was beyond difficult not to laugh while riding down that pathway.

I walk along the hall and read each plaque on the doors, trying to find some sort of solitude. It takes around eight of them before I find one on the left named 'garden'. Probably my best bet; perhaps there will even be genetically modified birds (because really, do they have anything natural here?). If anything, I just want a garden that at least resembles reality. Before I walk in I check the time and see that I have an hour and a half. Time is just so important here that I _must_ be there for dinner or get reprimanded. Not that I really care; what are they going to do, kill me? I almost feel bad for finding that comical. There is a clock next to every door, which is really quite excessive, but whatever works for them.

I push the door open and peek in. The first thing I see is a magnificent butterfly that flies by my face. The wings are large with colors shining it the manmade sun. Blue and green, and a mix of the two near the inner circle. I walk inside, careful not to let any creatures out, and close the door lightly behind me. Being from a district engulfed in a forest, I can actually identify some of the flowers. I find trillium flowers, made up of three sprouting petals and surrounded by its plush green leaves. There are violets, which can be pretty common, really, with its mix of blues and purples. Then there are bluebells that hang low, almost like they are pained. It seems to work well in this building, signifying the aura of the tributes.

There are plenty of other flowers I have never seen, as well. One that has really caught my eye is full of bright colors. The needle-like petals are sometime light purple or pink with blue tips, or red with a softer purple. There are some that are even orange. One has another butterfly, though really there are multiple flying all around. As I go farther down, only roses surround me. They start black, then red; lighter and lighter as I move. Eventually I can't go any farther, because right in front of me is a single white rose. The sign for purity and innocence.

It only seems natural that it's a dead end.

oooo

"This is very improper! I don't know how you expect to make a good impression with such behavior." Clementina has been screaming in her shrill voice for at least a half an hour for being five minutes late. You have got to be fucking kidding me.

I bite my lip as hard as I can so I don't laugh, and when I look over at Acton I can see him smiling down at his lap. Honestly, I don't know how he deals with her every year. I wave her off and sit down, kicking my feet on the chair next to me for some more fun; just as I expected, she somehow gets louder. So loud that I'm surprised that no one has knocked on our door to tell her to shut up.

When she's done, I give her a thumbs up and say, "Got it." I have no idea what she said, but that seemed like the appropriate answer. I sit back upright, because really that's no position to eat in, and pick up my fork.

"Ahem." Clementina has her arms crossed and an expectant look on her face.

I roll my eyes and sigh, letting the fork drop from my hand. "Wrong fork," I say in a flat tone, then grab the other one and feign a smile. "Don't want my food to get mad at me for using the wrong prongs to puncture with! How could I be so foolish?" I 'tsk' and shake my head. I stuff some food in my mouth so I don't burst into laughter at the scandalized look on her face. I like Clementina; she offers entertainment.

The rest of dinner is just full of small talk, talking about our home lives and all the important people we're leaving behind. Well, no one really asked about that except me, and it really made everyone uncomfortable. I'm a dick.

My stylist, Gwendolyn, asks me what I thought about my chariot costume. She put me in an outfit that reminded me of a fucking tree. A _sparkling_ tree. I lie and tell her it was wonderful, because I've gotten all of the havoc out of my system for the night.

When our dessert comes out, it's so good that I have to comment. "This is delicious. What is it?"

It seems like Clementina has forgiven me, because she cheerfully answers with, "Oh! It's chocolate chip cheesecake. One of our best options, I am sure. I'll order more!"

I hold up my hands. "Oh no, that's fine," I force a yawn and stretch, "I'm beat! See you all bright and early!" I push out my chair and walk away after finishing my last bite of the cheesecake, and don't bother to push it back in. Thankfully, my room isn't too far of a walk, but far enough to not be in speaking distance of the dining room.

The clock in my room says it's 8:45. Too early for bed, in my opinion, so I pick up the remote on the bed stand and flip on the television.

_"Oh, Cartalosono, I simply cannot live without you! Your evil twin Cartalonoso has fooled me! Please, take me back!"_

I stare at the television in shock. Oh dear god. I have no words to describe this. _Oh dear god_. No wonder the brains of these people are fried. Maybe I should just take a shower.

I turn off the TV and hop off of the bed with a sigh, going over to the dresser to pull out some pajamas. I dig down deep and am able to pull up a cotton sleep shirt and pants, under all of the silk. Seriously, what is it with these people and silk? Now, all I need is slippers. I actually like them, though I'd never admit it out loud. I already have my favorite pair out by the bathroom door and kick them in, throwing the clothes on top of them and stripping down before even thinking of closing the door.

Luckily at this point, I've mastered the nozzles. Thank god, because the first time I used it I almost blinded myself with soap that smelled of roses. I hum to myself while I wash up, turning the water's heat to the highest notch. Everything is computerized; therefore I control everything through touchscreen, which is quite nifty. I finish up my shower and step out, letting myself dry with all of these gadgets that are actually kind of intimidating. I leave the room after dressing and look at the clock. 9:20.

I sigh and go over to the food shoot and order a piece of that cheesecake, then lay down on the bed. There is a little drawer near the bed full of books that I decide to look through, and I actually find one that wouldn't be all too painful to look through. It's a picture book – like the rest, because apparently we're toddlers – but for older people. I hear the shoot start up, so I go over and grab the cheesecake once it's set to go then head back to the bed and the book.

Wait a minute…this book is all about sex. I guffaw and flip to a random page; honestly, these people have no boundaries. Cross out that toddlers comment. I spend time looking through it – these people must take classes to get flexible enough for some of these positions – and eating my cheesecake, and decide it's late enough to sleep when I'm all done. It's a little after ten, so that's decent enough.

Tomorrow we train. Though I'll obviously train, I'll spend a good amount of time watching the others train, as well. I know the Careers usually try and show off, and that could actually be to my advantage. Arrogant little shits. I slip down in the sheets and close my eyes, sleep coming easy for one night.

* * *

**Clay Garner, 16 - District 11 male**

**AprilLittle**

**Night After Chariot Ride**

* * *

The ding of the elevator reaching floor eleven - and the rustling of the itchy greenery that composes my shirt - alerts the avoxes assigned to our suite that the opening ceremonies for the Seventh Hunger Games have come to a close. They silently appear with brooms and dust pans to clear away the ruins of my outfit that continue to litter the white marble floor. I'm trying to keep my movements to a minimum to lessen the mess, but at this point, my efforts are proving futile.

Even though they're not an overly abundant crop in District 11, I wasn't opposed to dressing like pineapples for the chariot ride, especially after I saw the elegant gown that Jennifer's stylist dressed her in. Unfortunately, I received a newer, less sophisticated stylist who managed to create a true Capitol masterpiece out of _actual_ leaves. Itchy, scratchy leaves that have been molting off of me in a trail since the moment I shrugged into the outfit. I pluck a piece from my left elbow and examine it closer now that I'm out of the dramatically torchlit stables; it's a palm frond. _Where the hell. . .?_ I deposit the frond in a trash receptacle at the end of the hall and continue walking past the dining area, curious to turn on the television and see how the Tribute parade looked through the eyes of my home District. I'm busy trying to undo the buttons on the incredibly warm polyester vest - that's supposedly 'pulling the outfit together' through an unappealing mixture of tans, browns, and oranges - when a loud guffaw of laughter bursts forth from a low sofa across the room, causing a fair amount of fronds to flutter to the floor around my feet.

"What the hell did they dress you as, boy?" Husk asks as he rises from the position he was lounging in.

"Pineapples," I answer meekly. Maybe if he would have shown his face at any point following our introductory palaver on the train ride, we could have been dressed as something more respectable. This is the first I've seen of Cornelius Husk since he inquired about our fighting and survival skills; I gathered from that meeting that he was unimpressed, and has since been avoiding us.

"Pineapples," he says matter-of-factly, slowly circling the spot in which I'm trying to mimic being a statue. Finally, he stops and takes a sip of the amber colored liquid from the glass in his right hand. "Take that fucking thing off. It's starting to make _me_ itch just looking at you," he lets out another boisterous laugh as he turns back towards the seating area, "Where's the girl?"

"Jennifer?" I ask as I give up on the vest and just tear the two fastened pieces of fabric apart, adding four shiny golden buttons to the growing pile of debris.

"Yeah, the girl with the paring knife. Why isn't she with you?"

"She wanted to chat with the other Tributes. . .whichever ones decided to hang around down in that dungeon for any longer than necessary." I finally manage to rid myself of the living shirt, and a blonde avox girl is immediately at my side to remove it to the trash, "I figure I'll have plenty of time to observe them during training."

"Both of your approaches have merit," he says, clinking what's left of the ice cubes in his drink against the side of the glass. "Personally, I would go about it your way, just because I've never been a man of many words."

I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing at his last statement; he's quite talkative once he gets a bit of liquor in him. I badly want to ask him about some of the rumors I heard whispered at the Reaping, especially whether he was really from District 13 and if his journey to District 2 took him straight through the other Districts or if he spent some time in any of them. Jennifer and I had passed most of the train ride to the Capitol by gazing out the windows and imagining what the different Districts would be like; not what they've told us in school, but what they're _really_ like.

Unfortunately, the only way for either of us to find out would be to win the Hunger Games and travel on the Victory Tour. But even then, we wouldn't be able to walk amongst the honest, hardworking folks. . .we would be whisked away on tours with the mayors and the upperclass merchants of each District, being fed all sorts of hoopla to promote the flimsy facade, the fragile outer shell, as the true backbone, nay, the _hearts_ of each District slave away in shadowed silence.

Defeated by my own thoughts, I collapse onto the sofa adjacent to Husk's and sprawl out in a similar manner. As the recap of the Tribute Parade starts to play on the television, I pull Miranda's gray worry stone from my front pocket and rub my thumb over the indent on worn surface. I imagine that I am sitting at home between her and my Mom, quietly observing the Games as we do each year, rather than watching them from a luxurious suite in the Capitol's Training Center.

While being mostly ignored by a man who is either a very gifted actor or incredibly oblivious to the shared characteristics that keep appearing between us.

And dressed as a pineapple.

* * *

**Kristen Shaner, 15 - District 12 female**

**24mayhem24**

**Night After Chariot Ride**

* * *

As the chariots slowly leave the arena, I can't help but shudder. How did that go for me? Do the others like me? Does the Capitol like me? I don't exactly have the most award-winning smile, or refreshing personality but…

I look around at our prep stylists and then look down at myself. My skin is covered in black powder, which I was told would make me look like a 'stunning piece of coal'. I was okay with it, until they put me in that dress… It was so tight that I could hardly breathe. I let out a huge sigh as we are hidden from the audience. Ashwood looks up at me briefly from his wheelchair, before turning away. Our chariot had to be fitted so that the wheelchair would be able to stay on as the horses carried us. I couldn't help but hold on to the edge of the wheelchair- I was terrified of it rolling off and Ashwood being carried away, spinning out of control. I'm not sure if he resents me for it- on the train ride he pretty much kept himself to himself, so that could just be his personality.

Being the district partner of somebody in a wheelchair is strange. I don't know how I should act around him; if I left him alone I might look inconsiderate but if I was wheeling him around all the time I'd probably fade in to the background. He gets a lot of attention from the cameras. It's almost like he's the Capitol's latest sob story.

After we are swarmed by the prep-stylists, who help us off the chariot and send us away to get cleaned up, I contemplate what my strategy in the games would be. Our over-the-top escort Lazaro Imoso really only cares about how good we look during the whole thing. He says my angles are stunning and I could totally work the camera, but if people are hacking away at my limbs at the same time then 'working the camera' wouldn't be much use.

I spend longer than I should in the swanky Capitol shower, using every flavoured soap available to scrub off the powder. When step out, my body smells like roses, chocolate and mint. I slowly get dressed and make my way downstairs, where everybody else is waiting for me. We're meant to be having a talk about strategy.

"Sorry I'm late," I mumble, sliding into the velvet-padded chairs.

"No problem, sweetie. I can tell you're sorry, right? Right," Lazaro gushes, filing his nails casually. "By the way I think you could really use one of these, your nails are horrible."

I look down at my nails instinctively. There is black powder still trapped inside of them and my cheeks flush crimson. Ashwood is looking out of the window at the Capitol skyscrapers, but turns his head back when our escort/mentor resumes his speech.

"Anyway, guys. Let's talk about the Chariot rides. Starting with you, Ashwood. Okay: Omigosh, you looked so ferocious. You're cold as stone and you had the fabulous eyes of a killer. I loved it."

Ashwood simply nods. I grip my knees anxiously when my turn comes up.

"And now it's Kristen. Baby, your face is so striking. And you were catching the light perfectly. But you totally need to give more! Your eyes were so dead, like you had just been killed by Ashwood. Like, do you have a personality at all?"

My mind starts going into meltdown. I knew this would happen. I can't help it if I'm quiet, I just am! And as I'm lying in bed at night, all I can think of is Ashwood leaning over a dead body, a bloody dagger in his hands. And that dead body is me.


	16. Training Day I

**Ariella Dawson, 17 – District 1 female**

**Juliet's Shadow**

**Training Day I**

* * *

One two three. Plink plink plink. The knives land in the heads and hearts of the dummies that were their target. The targets start to move and I just throw faster, harder, making each one face a fatal wound. I pick up the knives and throw it into the stomach of one dummy, grab the largest knife in my arsenal, jump onto the back of the dummy and slit its throat, just to see if I can. I see the approving faces of my comrades.

I can finally let myself smile because I am not out casted or shunned here. Tributes I am allied with, Hero, Nova, Kai, Gemini and my district partner, Maverick, all look to me like I can be useful. I allow myself to be completely ruthless to the dummies, to put on a bigger show for them.

The others stare like I am a monster though. How can I be one, though? I've at least learned all their names. I've had a conversation and found something good in all of them, but I have also remembered why I am here: to kill them. There is Sebastian and Nitya from three, Sebastian I know will be the stronger of the two because of his larger size and age, but Nitya will be no problem. She is small and can be blown over in a gust of wind. Jake and Grace from District 5 will be of no concern to us either. The boy, Jake, is even smaller than Nitya. Grace doesn't look like she could live past a day without help.

I've made small comparisons like this on all the tributes. I will plaster their faces to the dummy in my head so I can kill them easier in the arena. I know I will kill someone. It is inevitable. I just hope they understand I am doing this to help myself, not out of spite to them. I have no vendetta against them. I've even gone as far to tell a few about Tapaz and my mother. I've told Imogene and Rex my father is from their district. I will not kill either of them, I hope. I couldn't do that to a father who might love me. It would cause me too much pain. Then I must also remember I caused myself all this pain. I didn't have to volunteer. Yet, if I hadn't that little girl –Ruby- would be here, in my place, getting prepared to be killed like a pig for slaughter. That is what most of these kids are. I am not. I refuse to be one of those who will die as a sacrifice. If I die, I'll do it to help someone. At least I may have a redeemable soul at that point.

I have yet to stop throwing the knives, each throw getting harder and harder, sinking deeper and deeper into the dummy. "Take it easy, Ariella! You're not in the games yet." I look behind me to see a smiling Nova, the only one out of the six in our alliance who was reaped, yet we still accepted her because she is good with knives as well, almost as good as I am.

I have heard her tell stories about her son she hopes to go back too. I hope if I die, she has an opportunity to go back because I know what it is like to grow up without a parent. I remember her telling me about him and me just imagining myself in her sons place. At least he knows he was loved, though. I have no idea what my father thought of me. Did he even try to meet me? I shake my head and sigh. I need to worry about winning for now. I just smile at Nova. "I don't want to be taken down easily. These guys are going to get at least five of us. Chances are I will be one of those five. I don't want to give them an easy time with my death."

I notice the tears starting to prick in my eyes, but I block them out, not wanting to cry in front of the others. I can save that for my pillow. It is my fault I am here. Mine and Tapaz's. Nova pulls me in for a quick hug when no one is looking. "I won't tell them you're worried. I am too."

I nod at the older, taller tribute. She is only eighteen, a year older than me and only three inches taller than me, but because she is a mother, it seems she is all the wiser. It doesn't help I am, by far, the smallest tribute in our alliance. Gemini and Nova both have three inches and twenty pounds on me. They are both just a single year older than me. I feel like a child compared to them. Kai is only a year older and I feel like a child compared to him because he has nine inches and fifty pounds on me. Maverick is younger than me but has ten inches and fifty pounds on me as well. Even Hero, the youngest out of all of us, has seven inches and thirty pounds on me! I feel like a child and look like one comparatively too. I just need a way to prove myself.

Kai comes over once I start throwing knives once again. He has become a sort of unelected leader among us, but he seems the natural choice. "How is it going, Ariella?" I look to him and throw a knife at the furthest dummy's head in response. I then give him a sweet, innocent smile.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, not caring it is brown for once. "I think it is going pretty good. I haven't missed my mark yet and I have been getting in some close combat knife practice with the dummies."

He nods and I see something in his eyes. I'd be stupid to know that he wasn't using the rest of us for his own gain. He doesn't trust any of us, but I trust him. I don't think for a moment he is going to come behind me in my sleep and put a knife in my back. I don't think any of them will.

I have been watching him hack a dummy to pieces with a sword, scaring the daylight out of a few of the tributes, yet all of us scare them. We appear to be elite in comparison because we come from richer districts. They probably all hate us. I would hate me too. Every time I have a chance, I at least try to talk to one of the other tributes, let them know I don't want to kill them in small signals, but I cannot be too adamant about these actions, otherwise the others will think I am betraying them. I would never do that to them. I just want to help the others live longer and better than the way Tapaz treated me, yet they still look at me with fear. "I saw you talking to some of the other tributes earlier, Ariella. What were you saying to them?"

I shrug and throw a knife casually at one of the other dummies heads. The sudden sound of the pop makes Aran look up from her station and at me. I shrug and smile to her in apology and turn my attention back to Kai, my voice a whisper. "I can try to find out their secrets, can't I? I can find out what they are good at? I discovered from Velvet, the girl from District 8, that her partner, Brandon, is completely and utterly insane and can be a wild card when it comes to us trying to kill him." I only learned the first part from her. I detected the rest from logic.

I seem to have pleased Kai because he is nodding. "Tell the others what you have discovered about each tribute at lunch. It could be useful information come the arena. Good work with the knives, too, Ariella." I nod and let a smile cross my face. I am finally pleasing people. They are seeing past my hair and eye color. I'm starting to prove to them I am not a child.

* * *

**Nitya Allardyce, 12 – District 3 female**

**Apples of Idunn**

**Training Day I**

* * *

Phoebe wakes me up at seven this morning, earlier than I have woken up since I arrived here, and I am not a morning person. When I ask groggily and grumpily why she disturbed me, she insists that I have to get ready for training. Who needs three hours to get dressed and eat a little breakfast? Capitol citizens. Of course. That's the time frame we're working with here.

I trudge down to the dining room, resting a hand along the intricate wall carvings as I walk, mostly to keep me steady as I walk. I give a curt nod to Sebastian as I sit down, looking at the others gathered at the table. Despite the fact I am anything but hungry (when I have actually eaten the night before, it appears I'm never hungry directly after I wake up) I pile food onto my plate. I need plenty of energy, if I'm going to hone the few skills I have. As we are eating, Kellye looks at me. Her look makes my blood boil. Why do we have to get a stupid Capitol woman to be our mentor? She knows nothing about what it's like in the Games. No amount of lectures they could give her could compare to the knowledge about what it's really like gathered by a Victor.

"So, Nitya, what can you do?" She twerps, smiling widely at me as I push eggs in my mouth. I swallow and wipe my face as I think.

"Um... I guess I'm okay with knives and technology, and mathematical physics..." I say. And even then, only two out of eight throws actually hits anything...She frowns, her perfect little eyebrows coming together.

"Well, that won't be enough to land you a good score. But that's not what Training is about! It's about honing skills that will help you! Try some new things, and practice a lot! All of those stations might make the difference between life and death in the Arena." I nod my understanding, a cold pit of fear setting in my stomach. No amount of practice will help me. I know I'm doomed.

After breakfast, we get dressed in our Training uniforms, and Phoebe herds us down to the Training Rooms at nine thirty. We listen to the instructor's list of rules, and we're turned loose. I head immediately for the knife throwing. In the Games I've seen, throwing knives are a fairly common weapon, good with range and close combat, easily concealed, lightweight, and you don't need to be terrible great since... it's a fairly large target. And, possible the best part, is they're not always in the Cornucopia. Sometimes they're spread out.

I practice for forty five minutes at the knife throwing station, glancing every so often at the Gamemakers. They're not even looking at me. They're more focused on the Career's skills, and on the people actually doing something impressive. Well... hopefully I'll be able to surprise them come the private sessions?

I take inventory of all the knives. Some curved, some thin, some thick. They're all meant for different skill sets. I practice with each of them, because they might not all be accessible in the Arena.

After I finish throwing knives, I move on to trapping, in which I learn how to do a simple wire trap. The only requirement now is that I have some wire. This will be a good way to get food, if I survive that long. I then continue to the plants, figuring that it might be good which berries and mushrooms are good and which are bad, as well as what has healing properties. After that, firestarting. This shouldn't matter too much, as it is an idiot move to start a fire in the Arena. We are released to lunch at noon.

The Careers gather at one table, talking and joking cockily, arguing and boasting of their skills and which Tribute they have their eyes on. I bite my lip and attempt to listen in. The rest of us sit alone, or rarely, in pairs. I consider sitting by Sebastian, thinking maybe the others will think we're in an alliance, and won't mess with me in the Games. I decide against it, and wander to a far corner, fairly close to the Careers in an attempt to pick up on their conversation, maybe get an advantage?

When we return to training, I continue from fires to bows (which I am miserable at), my hands shake and only one of every ten arrows hits the dummy. Then on to the more physical activities; climbing, hand to hand, and I even try to lift a few weights. I only get to seventy pounds before my weak, malnourished twelve year old's arms give way. S few of the others snicker at my feeble attempts, but I ignore them. As I look around, I see the other Tributes with far more advanced skills than myself, throwing spears through the heads of dummies from eighty feet, or hit one with three arrows in rapid succession. If I were to go against these kids, my odds of survival would be so small. My only strategy now might be to be quick and hide.

After a while, I just sit and watch a few of the others, observing their form, and seeing the determination in their faces. These kids have been trained from a young age to be in these Games. Perhaps I should exercise the same emotion of determination, of confidence? Or take out my rage on the Capitol on those dummies, I think bitterly in slight amusement. Pretend I'm throwing knives at President Cross himself. I get up, fire already burning in my heart with fury. I pick up three knives and take a hold of one blade. I narrow my eyes at the torso of foam and leather. I aim upwards to account for gravity (I was best at math back home, mathematical physics in particular) and flick my wrist, hard, as I let go of the knife. Surprisingly, it lands in the torso and sticks there. I smile, pleased with myself. I quickly dispatch the other two knives and successfully kill the dummy.

* * *

**Jake Noir, 12 – District 5 male**

**BlackEyes13**

**Training Day I**

* * *

Many things are starting to make sense since I came to the Capitol, but in another important story, a lot of things are starting to not make much sense either,

Apparently, I'm not alone in my age division of 12 in these games, Clarence Thomas (my escort/mentor) says this was the biggest amount of twelve year olds he had ever seen.

My living quarters are amazing too! My jaw dropped at the sight of all the wonderful and simply gorgeous satin and luxury items in the Capitol that are made by District 1, and the food...lets just say l'm going to gain atleast ten pounds over this week!

But the Capitol in a general sense is weird, strane styles and fluorescent neon colors dominate their fashion and lifestyles, they're pretty goofy in addition as well, I laughed myself to death before I left my train the other day, the crowd was like a rainbow.

As for my other tributes, especially the careers, they're practically from mars to me! I even wrote a poem about them.

District 1 is really fun! With the black haired girl, who throws knives a twirl, and the gem miner, who's really not a fashion designer.

District 2 is better than you! With the young mom, who's nice and calm, and the boy Hero, who's jokes I give a zero.

District 4 has fishing lures, with the scary girl with a tan, and the Brooke with ears full of sand.

I'm sure the careers would kill me if they read that poem I recited to Grace at the apartment, she laughed and giggled at my brave stunt.

As for training, I feel the need to team up with someone, I know that I'm smart, sneaky and have traps fully planned out in my mind.

But as for survival, I need someone's help, someone I can trust, a friend, But not Grace, she's too much like me to rely on, besides, she doesn't do alliances anyway.

I need someone I can trust who trusts me, I find That people underestimate me because of my age, Brandon Heath from nine and me sure do overcome that stereotype from what I've heard about him, Im truly dangerous, and I could outsmart half the tributes here with a trap, but I need muscle.

I focus on one boy from six, he lost an arm and Im curious, he seems to have piercing eyes behind his bangs, with a strong stare it seems this boy was unlike any I had seen so far. I stick to a corner, watching him from a distance as he raises his knife, but in a split second before he throws his knife I notice that even though he focused his body stance on the chest he aims with his hand at the shoulder, and the knife flies and stabs deep in the shoulder with force, he looks around but I simply slide into the shadows so he doesn't notice, he simply isn't showing his total strength, not yet though.

He then walks over to the plant identification station, that's currently not the most popular. I walk over to him as the instructor begins his speech, I already know how to tell the difference because Im so interested in trees, they're amazing and rare in five, a practical wasteland of a desert.

After he finishes I then begin to whisper as we start sorting them.

"You know...you're stronger than you let on." I say, testing the water.

"Well you're smarter than you let on, how the hell are you so good at this?" He asks, looking at each berry like there's no difference.

I laugh and so does he, clearly confused about each berry and plant.

"I payed attention, here, let me show you." I say, I then show him the difference in color, texture and smell between poisonous and non poisonous.

As Metro starts to get the idea of difference I then decide to ask a tough question that I'm puzzled about, yet I reserve myself and am polite as I ask,

"So...what happened there?" I ask sheepishly, he doesn't seem to mind.

"Factory accident." He replies, casual.

"Oh, is it hard?" I ask, further, calmer that he doesn't mind.

"Nothing I can't handle." He replies and I smile. Metro then seemed to be in deep thought, clearly though not about berries as he sorted.

"So, who was the girl?" I ask. I had seen Metro's reaping, as well as others on the television on the train ride as I was about to go to sleep, a little girl cried as he was being taken away, restrained by an older girl as Metro was being brave as he walked up the stage.

"Leyna? Oh, she's my little sister, after my parents died I had to raise her myself. She's not that younger than you." He replies in a solemn tone.

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't have any parents either, gunned down by Peacekeepers in a riot." I say, a little sad myself.

My thoughts then drift to them, they died together, their eyes closed and their hands held together they wore the same power plant uniform as I kneeled over them and I cried, I didn't even understand, why wouldn't they wake up? But who could blame a five year old for not understanding why they were being put in boxes and put in the earth. I realize that I'm weak for the arena, I need Metro and that is fact, he's my only chance of survival.

* * *

**Clay Garner, 16 – District 11 male**

**AprilLittle**

**Training Day I**

* * *

The late morning sun warms my cheeks and brightens the inside of my eyelids as I lie on the overstuffed Capitol bed, halfway between sleep and wakefulness, a pleasant dream about flying through the clouds is slowly slipping away from- wait! Late morning sun? I leap out of bed, stumbling over the silken sheets that must have slipped off the end of the mattress during the night, and rush to the huge pane of glass situated on the east wall of my suite. I stare out upon the expanse of brightly colored rooftops, the shadows created by ventilation pipes and weathervanes grow visibly shorter, even in the small amount of time that I am transfixed by the view. I cannot even call to mind the last time the sun had beat me in rising; and it had beat me by hours today. Hours. And of course it had to happen on the first day of training with the other tributes! I turn away from the window and make my way across the room to the wardrobe, my frustrations from the evening before slowly beginning to build up again.

I emerge from my room into the main corridor and quickly jog down to Jennifer's door, giving it a light tap, just in case her internal clock was thrown off by the comforts of the Capitol also. There is no response from within, so I give it one more try, a little louder this time. Still no noises emanate from within. . .but a loud snore from the direction of the television area tells me that I'm not the only one who overslept. Not bothering to wake Cornelius Husk, I return to the elevator alcove and wait for a car to make its way to the eleventh floor and plunge me swiftly down to the lower level of the training gym.

I busy myself at the survival stations for the remainder of the morning session; no one seems to notice my lateness - not even my District partner, who is standing near the weapons area, rosary clasped in her right hand. While all around her the Careers - and those with delusions of joining the Careers - try to intimidate everyone else with their mighty sword swinging and expert arrow shooting, she stands serenely near the knife booth, her lips silently reciting prayers as her thumb and forefinger slowly move from bead to bead, tracking the decades as she completes them. As I learn how to make water safe for drinking, Jennifer finally selects a knife from the display and proceeds to walk nonchalantly up to a dummy whose better days are far behind. She lightly places her hand on its shoulder and neatly steps in front, the movement of her elbow suggesting a series of punches to the midsection. I nearly spill all of my newly potable water on the floor when she steps away again and reveals the mangled remnants of the dummy's tough, cloth bowels. Holy shit. She couldn't have been near it for longer than three seconds! I notice a few of the other tribute's eyes dart in her direction, quickly assessing the performance, before returning the focus to their own survival. Under the guise of inspecting the clarity of my water, I bow my head to hide the grin on my face.

Jennifer sets her tray of food down across the table from me at lunchtime, "Hey, Clay! Did you sleep well? How do you think the morning training went?"

I smile, assuming she doesn't realize that she abandoned me this morning without a conscious Escort to assure I was awake, "Yeah, absolutely, comfiest bed I've ever slept in!" I look down and push some food around my tray – it's so colorful; so unappealing. "Training has been going all right. . .I learned how to make drinking water. And I spent quite a while rubbing two sticks together in a failed attempt to make fire," I laugh and continue, "But you! Wow, Jen, pretty impressive stuff with the knives this morning!"

I notice a slight blush appear on her cheeks at the mention of her performance, "Thanks. I kind of got in the zone and just kept going; I hope I didn't give too much away?"

"You gave them something to think about, that's for sure," I say as I stand up with my tray in hand, "What do you plan on learning this afternoon?"

"Oh, um. . .maybe some snares? Or knot tying? I haven't really thought about it, honestly," she says as we walk towards the trash bins and dispose of our partially eaten meals, "What about you?"

I had the urge all morning to climb into the rafters or leap over a pile of wrestling mats, but I pretend to think about it a moment before answering her, "Something more physical. Maybe I'll juggle some flaming swords."

I arrive back in the gym earlier than everyone else for the second half of the day. I take a moment to stretch and create a vague mental map of the room's general layout. What I do isn't fancy, although it does appear to have a certain grace to it. I start to jog towards the weapons area, my eye drawn to the extra tall racking that holds the fighting staffs. In the blink of an eye, I dart to the right, plant my right foot four feet up the concrete wall, and propel myself forward and outward, landing deftly on top of a series of shoulder high storage lockers. I hop across three rows in quick succession and leap off of the final locker, my arms and hands stretched out to grasp the bar on the racking. I succeed in snagging the top beam, spin around it once, let go of the bar and tuck into an aerial somersault, completing the entire maneuver with a tuck and roll landing ten feet away. I hear the click of the double doors, signaling the arrival of the other tributes, and quickly run at a chest high pile of wrestling mats, jumping vertically at the last moment, planting my hands solidly on the surface and swinging my legs forward to allow me to slide feet first off the other side. I land on my toes, brush off my pants and shirt, and proceed to find Jennifer for some snare instruction.


	17. Dinner Scene I

**Gemini Dock, 18 - District 4 female**

**Estoma**

**Dinner Scene I**

Someone has gone to the trouble of trying to make us feel at home on our floor of the tribute tower. In each room, there is a feature wall that displays a picture of the ocean. I don't know how, but they've taken a photo and made it cover the whole wall like paint. The first time I saw one of them; a glassy blue green ocean with no whitecaps in sight, in the foyer, I had to run my fingers across it, and I pulled back, slightly surprised that my hand wasn't wet.

The scene in the bathroom is my favorite; it looks like the ocean around the peninsula does most of the time. The water is never glassy clear there; even when it is flat, it's a steel grey and looks like a hard, solid sheet. Sometimes, when we drop the net overboard, I wonder for a moment if it will just rest on top and refuse to sink below the surface. It does sink through though; the steel sheet is just an illusion.

In the dining room, which could fit my father's boat in it a dozen times over, there is a painted stretch of ocean that wraps around three of the walls. It shows a huge barrel wave, and there are even dark shadows in the water that mark where seals are using the power of the water to drive themselves towards their prey. Or maybe they're just having fun. When I sit down, I choose my seat because behind me, on the wall, a seal's head has broken the surface of the water. The detail is so perfect that I can see the droplets of water on its whiskers. I like having the seal hovering over my shoulder; dark and sleek and powerful. I can only hope that my arena suits me as well as the painted ocean suits the seal.

Most of the dishes on the huge table, nearly as large as the deck of our boat, are seafood. But if the cooks think they're making us feel at home again, they're wrong. I've never eaten lobster and abalone and delicately spiced barramundi. While we get enough to eat back home, most of it is plain cod or the sharks that get tangled in our nets sometimes. Though, of course, we never eat the fins; those sell for a good price at the market. Despite the trouble the sharks cause, trying to steal our fish, they can be worth it because the fishermen pool all the shark teeth they find and sell them to the Capitol for a good price.

What I miss on the table is the seal meat. During the right season, seal is all we eat. It still finds its way onto our table the rest of the year too because my mother dries and salts it. Sometimes we joke that it's actually the fat beef from District 10. There's actually not as much meat on a seal once you take away the parts that we sell; the blubber and the pelt, but our little boat can kill dozens in a single day, so there's always plenty to go around.

After today, I am glad to sit down and eat. Training was hard, though nothing like a day on the boat with my father. Shar and Leo told Kai and I to come out strong. We showed everyone how capable we were, but made sure to keep something back for the private sessions.

The first compulsory exercise was an obstacle course. The final stretch of it was a treacherous set of ropes suspended from the ceiling. My stomach churned when I saw them, but that was before I noticed that they were hanging over a deep pool of water, presumably to encourage tributes not to fall. I did the opposite. Upon reaching the platform where I could have grabbed the first rope, I made my body into a sharp arrow and dove into the water. Even wearing my boots and clothes, I cut through the water and pulled myself out of the pool to slap the trainer's hand in the fastest time.

Our mentors also told Kai and I to watch our competition; and in particular, the other careers. We naturally gravitated together as we had more in common than the other districts. It was easy to pick out the other careers, even if I hadn't watched them on the reaping recaps; they, like me, filled out their training uniforms.

"Good news," Leo announces from the head of the table. "You're both in the career pack. So that means for the rest of training, you want to stick together, get used to working with each other."

"Did all the others from 1 and 2 get in?" I ask.

"Just," Shar says, ticking off on his fingers, "Ariella from 1 was in right away, and Hero and Supernova from 2. We nearly didn't let Maverick from 1 in though; he wasn't training like you two, but he seems strong enough."

"It's meant to be careers only," Kai says, "that's why they call it the career pack."

"You can also use it to keep strong competitors close," Leo explained.

"And if you don't want Maverick, you can target him first when you split," Shar adds.

* * *

I toy with the remains of a chocolate tart on my plate. Taking a slice on my fork, I think about eating it, but my stomach is tight and full. I put it back down with a clatter. Kai has gone to bed. He's seemed off all day, and I guess he's just missing home. And he's been clashing with Shar and Leo.

"Now you've seen the other careers, what do you think of them?" Shar asks. He's sitting on my side of the table, and all night he's been inching closer to me. I've been ignoring him.

"They're all taller than me, except for Hero," I mutter to my plate.

"Taller, not stronger," Leo says firmly. "But you're right. You're going to have to take that into account when it comes to fighting them. With their longer reach, you don't want to be in a long fight. You want to strike quickly and use your strength, because they won't expect that."

"Think distraction," Shar says, and he winks at me. "I know you know what I'm talking about Gem."

I do know, and so does Shar because he comes from the cold, northern peninsula too. When we hunt the smaller harp seals, it's easy just to sneak up on them while they're sunning themselves on the rocks, but when we hunt sea lions, it's different. Whoever called them sea lions had the way of it. Their teeth, if they latch on, can break a bone easily. Some of the men my father works with told me a story about a big bull lion taking the calf of a killer whale.

So when we hunt them, we've got to be cleverer. Caspian and I trade off being the one to distract the colony. The females start to flee towards the water, but in the bulls, the instinct is to attack so we have to be ready to run. While they're distracted, my father and the rest of the crew can sneak up on them. Even they have to be careful though; it can be dangerous if you don't make the first blow with the club a telling one.

Shar shifts closer and I start to move away, but he just puts his hand on my shoulder. Leo leans forward to.

"You've got to promise not to say anything, Gemini," Leo says in a low voice. For once he's serious. "When we mentor, we have to pick one tribute that we're going to focus out efforts on."

I hold my breath, and Shar slides his arm around my shoulders, and gives the end of my braid a gentle tug.

"It's you Gem, we think you're the best shot."


	18. Training Day II

**Maverick Geo, 16 - District 1 male**

**Squirrel-Punter-6829**

**Training Day II**

* * *

_Some nights I rule the world_

_With bar lights and pretty girls_

_But most nights I stay straight and think of my mom_

_Oh god, I miss her so much_

* * *

District Four has taken over the Career pack and I'm not sure if I'm surprised. At eighteen, they are the eldest of us all and look to be the best trained. Compared to the others, District One is the odd-man out, with neither of us having any training besides a harsh upbringing. At least, in my defense, the job I have been working for the past few years has given me some sense of what I am doing here, plus I know how to starve with dignity.

Ariella has been a great reminder of back home. She has a way about her that just keeps me together when I want to fly off the handle, especially when Dazzle starts to act, well, like Dazzle. She reminds me of sister, which is both comforting and heart-wrenching, especially if I have to be the one to end her life. It isn't as though she can come home with me; district loyalty is everything, but not when it comes to the finale. What if we are the only ones remaining? What if the games change us and we turn on each other early? All I can do is pray that when the time comes, I have the courage and strength to do what is right. Or, a better scenario, someone does the job so I don't have to.

What is wrong with me? I am talking about how the girl that does everything in her power to keep me from killing Dazzle in his sleep. I may have volunteered for this, but that doesn't mean I am a real Career. Although, I am pretty sure that if the dummy that is lying in pieces at my feet could talk, he'd scream out about how I am just another District One killer.

In the sea of feather-filled dummies, my pickax and I are alone, which is surprising. Our fearless leader and his second-in-command stood off the to side, sizing up our competition, if you can really call them that. Ariella and Nova, the girl from Two, sat near the weapon station and chatted, which would seem normal if we were anywhere else. And Hero...

"How do crazy people go through the forest?" he doesn't bother to give me a second to figure it out. "They take the psychopath!"

He laughs at his own joke, going as far as to slap his knee; however, his laughter is infectious and I can't help but find myself smiling.

"Getting better, Hero," I jested, elbowing him in the side jokingly. "What do you find in the middle of nowhere?"

His face is puzzled for a moment, then he shrugs his shoulders.

"H."

His eyes light up and his busts out into a loud, borderline obnoxious laugh that causes our leaders to look in our direction like we did something wrong. Kai, the male tribute, shook his head as though he was disappointed while Gemini tossed her dark blonde plait behind her head. Whatever. Just because I _chose_ to be here, doesn't mean I am leaving all that made me who I am at home. Same thing with Hero; he might be just another trained kid with a better upbringing than most, but he's just a normal kid. If the world was just a little different, I could see him being in my inner circle. Instead, I will be forced to compete with him in just a few days time if I am ever to see my family again.

Why did I do this?

Pride.

Little J-Man.

The money.

To avenge one friend and save the other.

Because I have something to prove to everyone back home.

Then why am I feeling like I'm in over my head?

"Hey, Mav?" Hero's boyish voice brought me back to reality. "Why didn't the skeleton cross the road?"

"Because he doesn't have any guts."

As he opened his mouth to protest me ruining the punchline on him, I dropped my pickax and stormed out of the weapon section. Claustrophobia was starting to kick in and my chest started to constrict and contort itself as I fumbled my way through the rest of the training center. The lower Districts began to form alliances; most stuck it out with their district partners, while others seemed to bond over similarities in skills. Me, I barely made it into my alliance, which baffles me even now. The past few years, the Big Three have seemed joined at the hip and yet, I was nearly tossed aside because of my status as a non-trained tribute. Ariella proved her worth, getting information about all of the other tributes, much to the delight of our glorious _leader _and yet, she hasn't stepped foot inside a training school. Like myself, her only super powers are a rough childhood...what was it about me that left a bitter taste in their mouth?

As I stomped my way through the less-occupied sections, like edible insects (really?) and hammock making (now _that's_ a skill!), a few of the smaller tributes that happened to be in that area scurried off like the frightened animals that they are. It hurts, but I understand. I might be the outcast among the Careers, but I'm still viewed as the monster of their nightmares, the entity that lurks under their beds and waits for them to fall asleep before I strike. Even if I wanted out of this alliance, no other one would take me and, in all honesty, it's what I deserve.

If they want a monster, I will show them one. I will show them all. I just hope I can explain this all to Jadeite one day.

* * *

**Sebastian Grande, 17 - District 3 male**

**Mikey Jacquez**

**Training Day II**

* * *

Gripping the handle of the sword, looking straight down at the mat, the dark gray mat, I suddenly think of my mother. _I have to do this for you; I'll do whatever I can for you. I just want to say thanks for everything you did for me. Thank you so much._ My grip tightens as both of my arms shake and quiver—my eyes meet the dummy that's a few yards away from me. It reminds me of my father and how much I wish I could hurt him right now. He abused my mother, and God only knows what he has done to Techno. _Please, God, please keep Techno safe from harm._

I tighten my hold a tiny bit more before I swiftly swing the sword and let it fly straight onto the dummy's chest, hammering it to the hard ground. If only that was father, but then again, I can't hurt my own father. He is my only one; however, he hurt my mother, he never appreciated her, he's probably hurting Techno right now. _Quit thinking all this_, I tell myself, _Just chill._

Another dummy automatically positions itself in front of me a few yards away after I knocked the other one down. This time, I won't use a sword—I've already used two swords; it's time for small blades. I rapidly get five small and thin knives—two in my right hand and three in my left—I throw with my right but I guess I'm going to have to throw the other three that I'm holding. I take a close look at the dummy, examining its wear and material. I wonder how hard they are; people back home say that they're made out of wood, but I seriously doubt that.

I position the knives correctly and take in a deep breath, letting everything out of my mind and I successfully do when I let go of the two knives and they both escape my charge, winging straight into the dummy's face. I hear a loud thud and the dummy collapsing on the ground.

I suddenly remember looking at Nitya this morning—her crooked glasses, her small body, her freckled face… it somehow makes me wonder how she'll do in the arena with all the other tributes. I still know that if I was a female, I would've volunteered to take her place at the Reaping. But I also know that in the Games, I'm not the one who's going to kill her; I can't kill her. If I did kill her, it'd be like killing Techno. And that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Looking at the fallen dummy, it reminds me of my mother and me when father would come home and beat us repeatedly. It infuriates me, pure anger and fire burns up inside of me. My hands clench and I can feel my fingernails digging through the inside of my hands, blood tickling through. I let out a heavy and hasty breath before I rapidly approach the dummy and wrap both of my hands around its neck. The material doesn't feel too hard, but it's not rubber either. It's not wood—I'm not sure; probably in between both of those things. I know that because when I tighten my grasp, my hands enclose together and the dummy's neck is no longer there but scattered into bits and pieces around the shiny floor.

I look back and see that Maverick Geo, the male tribute from District 1, Grace Winters, the female tribute from District 5, and Imogene Guthrie, the female tribute from District 10, are all staring at me with a bizarre look. I'm not sure if I've frightened them or not, but I don't care. They probably think I'm insane, and I probably am, but I just did this out of anger, rage, and fury. Like I said before, he's probably hurting Techno right now; all because I'm not there to protect him. I can't and if I don't come out alive, and go back home, Techno's life will be miserable for the rest of his possibly short life. My father could probably kill him—he pretty much was the cause of my mother's death. I just don't like thinking that way, thinking of the fact that it may be true. _Please, please make sure my mother died of natural causes or disease. Please._

I sigh.

My head shakes and vibrates when I manage to get up easily. I can feel the inside of my head spinning, like the anger is turning everything around. The fury is like overtaking me, but I won't let it. I can't let; then again, I have to. All these other tributes are my targets to kill—I have to kill them if I want to come out alive. Maybe I can somehow picture all of them as my father; if I'm killing them, I'll make sure I won't look at them in the eye. I could just picture them as my father, so I won't have to make them my exact target. However, at the same time, I can't kill the little ones. The twelve year olds. They all remind me of Techno for some reason, I guess their age. Almost all the tributes are younger than me—I just have to make sure I get back to Techno. I have to.

I grab one last sword that's on the floor, taking a look at its fine point that's led by its long and shiny blade. I can see my reflection through it; my hazel colored eyes, my thick eyebrows, and my brownish-to-red-to-golden hair color. _Is this why the girls back at home always stare at me?_ I hold on to it, tightening my grip on the handle with my right hand. Everything flashes through my head: my mother's death, my dad beating us up, Techno... It all runs through my mind and I shut my eyes tight to just release everything as I swing my arm and release the sword, tossing it right on the dummy. I shake my head and quickly walk away, turning my head around to see that the sword has been dug through the dummy's head.

* * *

**Grace Winters, 17 - District 5 female**

**MidnightSnowSapphire**

**Training Day II**

* * *

Walking into the training center makes me just as nervous today as it did on the first day. But this time, we don't need the Capital person to explain how it works - three days of training, no fighting with fellow tributes, et cetera. Yesterday I just wandered around, avoiding busy stations, before I finally settled down at the fire-making station. I did that all day, even though I wasn't able to sustain one.

Deciding to try again, I make my way to the instructor who tried to help me yesterday. This time, instead of attempting with sticks, he's teaching me to identify the different types of rocks that can spark if I strike them against one another.

"I've never heard of this before," I tell him. It really doesn't sound probable, but I won't voice my opinion on that.

"It's actually a common technique, but very few tributes from previous Games decided to learn it." He sounds a little miffed as he says this. He must not get that many tributes attending his station. At least, none of the careers who have a real chance of winning. Careers don't concern themselves with survival against the elements; their self-preservation goes as far as killing the other people in the arena who may threaten them.

I spend the majority of the day, once again, at the fire station. Thankfully, no tribute comes up to me - whether to taunt me threateningly, or try to make an alliance. I honestly don't know if I would accept an alliance. From what I've watched on the Games, I conclude that they're pointless. It ends up broken anyway, because there is only one winner. Every year.

Once I can distinguish which rocks can create friction together apart from which ones that _can't_, I set to work trying to use the rocks to set ablaze a small pile of dry grass gathered where I kneel. Having an alliance isn't totally _useless_, because someone can have your back in the first week or so, but tension builds the farther into the Games you and your ally survive. Death ends up breaking the alliance, assisted by one of the allies themselves. No, I do not think I would want an alliance. Even if it was with Jake himself, for I could not stand it if I were put in the situation where it was either him or me. Where we were to stand eye to eye, one of us forced to kill the other for our own survival. Death waiting in the wings to take one of us away with him.

As a spark flies from the rocks in my hands to the bundle of dry grass in front of my knees, I drop my head and blow gently at the heat like the instructor taught me. Ignoring the thoughts darkening my mind that are contemplating how long I may actually survive. I jerk my head back when a flame erupts in front of my face. The instructor virtually applauds me with glee at having successfully taught a tribute such a useful skill.

I feed the fire twigs and, gradually, larger sticks. I feel a shadow of pride at sustaining it. I thank the intructor as I stand, for I have no more need of this station. He nods at me, forming a neutral expression once again. But I can still see the excitement in his eyes.

I wander around again and end up at a place where I can learn to set snares, so I can catch animals for food. I wouldn't last long without eating, so I settle down next to another tribute and focus on this station's instructor. As it turns out, though, the day is almost done. I spend what feels like no time working with snares, never quite getting it to hold, when the peacekeepers start ushering everyone out of the center and to their elevators. Jake and I are in the same because we are going to the same floor.

Reaching the fifth floor, we go to our own rooms to change out of our training garb. I move slowly as I look for some nice clothes to wear to dinner. I only have one day of training left. One day to prepare myself for survival. For battle. But the arena's only half of it, isn't it? I'll still have my interview. My chance to convince people why they should like me. Why I should go home.

After changing into a short, blue sundress, I leave my room and head towards the dining hall, one word reverberating in my head.

_Home._

* * *

**Imogene Guthrie, 15 - District 10 female**

**Nrrrd-Grrrl-Meg**

**Training Day II**

* * *

"_Nobody likes being alone that much. I don't go out of my way to make friends, that's all. It only leads to disappointment." -Haruki Murakami_

* * *

Breathe, Imogene, breathe. Use your anger, but don't allow your mind become clouded with it. Swing wild and you will leave yourself open. Keep your guard up at all times. Adrenaline is a good thing, but don't become dependent on that. Slow yourself down just a bit and watch for patterns, you are observant. Keep your eyes open and come out swinging.

He doesn't give me a chance to collect myself, instead charging at me and swings a wild low jab that I easily dodge by taking a step back, then counter it with a shot of my own. He takes the shot like a champ, using the pain to his advantage and catches me off guard with a knee to the stomach; payback for the hay-maker that left his right eye bruised yesterday. The shot does what he had hoped, it knocks the wind from my sails and makes me double-back, which leaves me pinned in a corner. He scoffs, believing himself to be the victor of this little spare.

What he doesn't know is, I am at my best when backed into a corner.

The trainer goes for a punch not unlike the one I knocked him out with just twenty-four hours before, but I see it coming from a mile away. On pure instinct, I drop my body down and his fist cuts the air above my head, catching the wall behind it. As he lets out a pained cry, my body lunges forward and my shoulder connects with his midsection, forcing him to the ground. With his dyed-blue eyes wide in pain and shock, he stares up at me with disbelief. Then, for a split second, I see the ghost of a smile and I know what's coming next.

"Try again."

I plant my feet firmly into the ground and jab my elbow backwards, catching a second trainer in the gut. The sound that comes out of his mouth is almost enough to make me gag, but I hold it together long enough to spin on my heel and look him dead in the eyes. My fist connects with his bottom jaw, snapping his neck backwards like it was made of rubber and sends him flying backwards onto the hard floor below. He coughs, sending blood mixed with saliva as well as a tooth or two flying out. I can't help but smile when I see the little girl from Three watching me. She looks like I did at her age; the reddish hair, tiny frame, the wide-eyed sense of wonder. I'd give anything to go back to that time, a time before I knew what my mother did to keep me alive.

Before I was forced to face Rex in a fight to the death.

If I was a better person, I would have introduced myself to the little girl. If I was Rex, I would have made a mental note to protect her during the Bloodbath, or at least learned her name. But I am not him, I am not friendly or easy to get along with. I'm harsh and blunt and don't like being looked at funny or touched. Yet, I chose to fight with my fists and that is about as personal and close as I am going to get with anyone here.

"Her name is Nitya and she's from District Three."

The voice belonged to the girl from One and I winced.

"Didn't I answer your little questions yesterday?" I retort, stepping away from the fallen trainers. "Yes, your father is from District Ten and no, I don't give a shit."

"That's harsh!"

"And you're a Career," I spit back at her. "You should be all about the harshness of it all."

I turn to walk away, but she grabs me by my arm and stops me. Had Training Center rules hadn't been specific about us not fighting until D-Day, I would have shown her why those trainers are a mess on the floor.

"I know you know him," she pleads, her voice shaky. "I didn't press it yesterday, but I am today. Who is he?"

"Get off me!" I exclaim, shaking myself free of her grasp. "I don't give a shit about your little family issues, ok? I have enough of my own."

She sighs, dropping her arms down to her sides. "Look, I'm sorry, it's just that...I want to know if he actually gives a damn about me."

I can't help but repeat her sigh. "Fine, whatever. Yes, I think I know who you are talking about. A guy name Dawson comes into the bar my mother works at, looks a little like you. He's a good guy, quiet and keeps to himself. Tips well, which makes you a good guy in my book any day of the week. Wife's dead and he has a kid or two, both younger than me. The girl is about Rex's little sister's age and I've seen them play together. Never spoke of having a kid from One, but that's not something you ask a guy."

Her eyes look glassy, as though she might cry. "I have...siblings?"

"I was under the impression that there would be no follow-up questions," I mumble, only to feel guilty right after it slips from my lips. "Look, I'm sorry if it isn't what you wanted to hear and for all I know, it could be an uncle or older brother or not even the same Dawson clan. All I know is that he looks like he has the weight of the world on him when he knocks back the watered-down beers my mother sells and he's never been to bed with her. He's even given me a piece of candy or two on occasion. I think he felt sorry for me."

I guess that's all she wanted to hear, because she mumbled a quick thanks to me and took off running back to her Career buddies. Meanwhile, Rex was making a bee-line for me from across the Training Center with the boys from Five and Six in tow. The little one, I think his name is Jack or Jake, was a volunteer from the Power District, while the other only had one arm. If this is our alliance, we are more than a little fucked.

"Alright guys," he began, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "This is the great Imogene Guthrie. As you can already tell, she has a mean slap!"

We haven't really spoken since I slapped him across the face two nights ago and I regret it. I know why he did what he did, District Ten isn't exactly filled with tributes you'd bank money on, but he could have said something.

"I'm not sure I forgive you yet," I retorted, my terrible acting skills showing through. It's enough to make the one-armed kid smirk. "Whatever. It's not like I'm going to find anyone better than the ten year old volunteer and the freak."

District Six opened his mouth to respond, but I stopped him before he could. "What can you do, sport? Whatever it is, I bet it's better than small fry and Sexy Rexy!"

The glint in his eye was enough to prove to me that we were all going to get along famously. Then, he opened his mouth and cemented it. "Look at you, Princess...sitting on your throne. Don't worry about us, we boys will make sure you don't break a nail or get dirty."

Small fry giggled, while Rex's eyes grew wide and fearful.

"Boys...this alliance just might have staying power."


	19. Dinner Scene II

**Velveteen 'Velvet' Oison, 15 - District 8 female**

**Dissection of the Mind**

**Dinner Scene II**

* * *

The table itself was too big for the three of us. I'm not sure what length it is exactly all I know that there are more chairs than there are people. I am sitting in a silver lined chair decked with fluffy, orange pillows. The carved wood smells like what Oliver said was pine and I bring my face toward it and inhale. It enters my nose, causing minor pain due to some spiciness.

"The soup is here!" A called, the sound of a chair scraping across the floor. A moment passes as a soup the color of burgundy with little flecks of green something is laid in front of us. "Up, up, UP!" A called probably jumping.

With an aggravated sigh I stand my eyes flitting to Issy as his face held his trademark creepy smile. I quickly look over to A as it brings a caked hand to it's forehead. It's clock like hat is blocking the space so it just settles with it's hand being over it's skin.

"Thank you, president! We salute you!" A gave a blood stained grin, it's eyes soon unfocused. Without a second thought I take a seat Issy soon doing the same. I give him a cheerful smile as I take a nearby spoon.

A seems to notice we have sat down and does the same, it's face no longer smiling. With a soft hand it picks up a spoon, white matter now smeared over the reflective silver. I do the same as it does dipping the spoon into the soup bringing it to my mouth with much precaution. As soon as it reaches my an odd flavor of what seems roses and lavender coats my tastes buds. I can't tell whether or not I like it because a faint metallic flavor is mixed in as well, hopefully from the spoon. A seems to really love it because it is making moaning sounds a muttering 'mhmm' with each slurp.

I look over to Issy but he has no expression on his face. In fact he isn't even eating! He's just looking at A with some odd expression that seems like.. I don't even know!

After a few more rationed sips of what I will call rose soup I suppose, I push it away reaching my hand over the table. I quickly nab a roll retreating to my seat.

"So.." I begin between bites of bread.

"Are you going to eat that, Velveteen?" A asks pointing to the soup. I look at him, disgust etched in my features as I hand him the liquid.

I felt crept out by the how intently A was staring at me and it didn't help that it continuly does that! In fact, I'm led to believe that I'm the only one that it stares at! A takes it with a childish grin, picking up my spoon and tossing it aside.

How offensive!

I let out a huff of annoyance and wait until the next course is served. It takes exactly four avoxes to clear away the soup and bring new plates. A grabs at a male avoxes arm as if trying to bring them in, but the avox shakes away the surprisingly thin escort. After all of them have disappeared down a wide hallway, four more come in all carrying different platters of food.

The first one held a gold platter decorated with a large, crystal bowl filled with the colors purple, orange and yellow! Around the bowl is three small plates that must be for the dish. While the first one is setting down different dressings, the others are waiting anxiously for him to simply finish his task.

After he scoops a portion out for all of us he points to the dressings and bows. A waves its hand simply dismissing the one avox, soon to be replaced with another.

The next avox comes in with what seems like an animal of some sort. A large, brown thing lays in a thin, purple sauce and is garnished with carrots and parsley. A few more unidentifiable vegetables dot it as well. He sets it down in the middle gesturing to the others as they all set down some miscellaneous food items soon leaving.

After A sees them disappear from view, it lunges at the meat grabbing a blistered leg, the plates and silverware rattling. As it looks to Issy and I, it says, "That's... what you have to do to sneak up on someone. Don't think about it.. just do!"

Issy smirks a bit before quietly reaching over to grab a roll. My eyes stay on him for another moment as he bares his teeth, devouring the roll. I reach across the table to grab a bowl of wild rice the hotness of the container burning. I quickly drop it to the side of me, placing my fingers in my mouth as if to cool them down.

"Ow!" I exclaim, my words slightly murmured. "I don't think I can feel my fingers! I probably burned them that bad!" I exclaim again, eyes widening.

"Worry not, ...precious Velvy.." Isaiah says quietly, his words strained.

I feel a rush of coolness wash over me and the feeling of being creeped out return.. again! I smile and nod using my other hand to spoon rice on a given plate. With that done I took my fork to remove some meat from the animal, spooning some purple sauce as well.

"A.." I say between bites of pink meat, tender and glazed. "Any more advice?" I ask swallowing. Isaiah is suddenly stuffing his face, one hand doing the bidding the other scooping more on. I stifle a laugh at his sudden animalistic ways and take a bite of rice.

"Hm!" A says, tapping it's now greased chin. I feel like shuddering in disgust and perhaps looking away but don't. "Well, I say you should run into the cornucopia and grab all you can! Always go left!"

I pause before giving it a slow nod. I hear the faint sound of scribbling and my eyes rove to the corner. Isaiah now is writing something down as well as staring at both of us.

"Thanks, A.." I manage to say beginning on the salad.

For a moment all is silent as we eat. Only the faint sound of silverware clicking on their destined plates and the chomping of open mouths fills the void. It's nice, to live in the quiet for once. It seems that all there ever is, is screaming and unnecessary words. Repeating and becoming louder with each breath taken. I may be exaggerating yet what does it matter?

And the A rings a bell. "DESSERT!" it says, voice tinkling. Within moments our plates are taken away only for Issy's eyes' to become dark. I feel a slight anger at the sudden change of delicacies, even if they may be cream filled.

"I wasn't done!" I begin complaining adding a little whine. "I was..-Am! So hungry and the food was helping!"

"Now you get flavorful cream puffs!" A exclaims, voice high.

Isaiah says nothing as usual only drags an entire stand of them toward him. A's eyes' narrow but it ignores by fetching another stand.

"Pigs.." I mutter, eyes bright. I stare over all of the cream filled desserts, some a dark, rich brown others an exotic blend of red dashes and chunks of orange. With a content sigh I grab a few.


	20. Training Day III

**Hero Da'Rouge, 15 – District 2 male**

**Fire breathing WolfCats**

**Training Day III**

* * *

I step into the elevator as Supernova walks on with me, and our escort comes slowly behind us. I silently think over the strategy for my private sessions tomorrow. I slowly move my arms back and forth as the thought of the sessions became a drag and the elevator came to stop. I walked slowly off after our escort as I ran my hands lightly through my short curly black hair as the sound of swords and falling was heard in the distance; our escort opened the door as he bounced off in the distance.

I watched as Supernova came around my back. She slowly walked towards the other Careers and we looked around at each other. I watched as Maverick and Kai were talking and the girls were laughing a little. I guess no one wanted to talk to me as I passed them by, and I decided to train with my Warhammer. I came towards the trainer as he looked at my printed number two, and he stepped aside; I waited for the whistle to be blown. I gripped the stitched hilt as I lifted and he set the timer off and blew his whistle. I ran and threw the hammer as it whipped through the air to hit a dummy in the distance. I smiled as the instructor looked at me with happiness and I moved off from the hammer station and I decided to mingle with a few of the other tributes. I moved over towards the District Eight female, Velveteen. She seemed to be looking around and she tried to dart her eyes away as I came closer towards her.

"Velveteen, Velveteen!" I shouted as I came towards her.

She looked up and gave a small sigh. "Hey. Hero, isn't it?" she said with a small, dull sounding voice as she rolled her eyes. I tried to ignore her overdramatic act.

"What Lies At The Bottom Of The Ocean And Twitches?" I said as I smiled, almost about to burst from my joke.

"What, a dead fish?" she said melancholy as she rolled her eyes a little more.

"A nervous wreck!" I shouted and laughed. I saw Velveteen's mouth twitch a little as I heard a small laugh from Oliver who was coming towards the two of us.

"You sir are hilarious," Oliver said as I watched his expression became sullen when the sound of footsteps where heard in the distance.

"What's so funny?" said a gruff voice and knew Kai was right behind me, I felt a thin hand grab me and I was pulled away by Supernova. "What the hell was that for, Hero?" said Kai as I watched his skin shift from tan to red.

"I was just getting them relaxed so when it comes to the bloodbath, when they see me I could kill them easier," I said with a convincing voice, trying to get off the subject.

"Well, tell us what you're doing next time," said Kai as he moved passed me and went back to talking to Maverick. I felt the same hand return and noticed Supernova dragging me somewhere else.

"Hero, you need to be careful next time, when wondering off like that," she said to me in a motherly voice.

"Sorry, I can't help it; I'm a very social creature and no one here was up for it," I said as she flicked her hair back.

"Well, be careful. We need District Two to win again this year and you're our best hope," she said as I looked at her. We both walked slowly back with the others as they chatted and the rest of the tributes were busily running around.

* * *

**Kai Brooke, 18 – District 4 male**

**BecauseofKillianJones**

**Training Day III**

* * *

I slice through dummy after dummy, my sword tearing each dummy to shreds. In seconds the dummies are nothing but pieces of cloth and metal.

Ariella raises both eyebrows. "What species are you, Brooke?"

I smile, unfazed. "I take that as a complement, Miss Dawson. Now you'd better watch out because that dummy over there could be you. I tell you, Ariella, Gemini should be more than capable of making good on that threat."

I say it all lightheartedly, and with a laugh, but Ariella's eyes pop open and rest on Gemini, not removing themselves. She looks like she is envisioning herself torn into a hundred pieces like each of the practice dummies, stuffing pouring out on the floor.

"Just teasing, Ariella, don't worry. We're all allies here." I clap her on the back, but it only causes a shudder to run through her body. She tears her gaze away from Gemini and looks down at the pieces of fabric and metal I just cut up and she takes a deep breath in attempt to calm herself.

"Hey, you all right, Ariella?" I say, suddenly turning serious.

"She's fine," Gemini says. "And we'd better move on. We're not here to sit around and chat about killing each other painfully. We're here to practice doing so to the outer tributes . . . and eventually each other."

"Isn't she just brilliant?" I say to Maverick and Hero. "C'mon everyone. Moving on now.

We are supposed to wait in the canteen until our names are called. Gemini and I are the second Careers to arrive, Maverick being the first. For a second I wonder why he came down without Ariella, and then laugh at myself, Ariella is probably still at the Throwing Knifes station. We went together through all the stations but Ariella decided on staying a little bit more on the throwing knifes station. I have to say, she's impressive with those Throwing Knifes but not as my Milah of course.

Maverick waves us over. Gemini and I are seated and the three of us remain silent for a while.

Whilst Maverick and Gemini seem perfectly comfortable with the gap in conversation, I have a bunch of thoughts floating at the back of my mind which I have prevented from spilling out for far too long, and need to get out know.

"So, um, Maverick . . . you can't talk?"

The question earns me a whack on the head from its recipient and a disapproving look from my district partner, but Maverick does produce a response in the end; he shrugs. Well, I guess he isn't the talking type.

"Oh, well not everybody can be the talking type." I try to make it sound believable, but Maverick raises an eyebrow at me skeptically.

Before I can say anything else that will, no doubt, get me further into Maverick's bad books, the District Two Tributes enter the room, smiling and laughing.

Gemini smirks at them as they make their way over to our Career table.

Not a moment later, Ariella waltzes in. Every time she passes another tribute, she winces and looks over her right shoulder, then left, then right again. By the time she reaches the Careers, she looks pretty traumatized just from the walk all the way to this table; the closest to the Training Center in which we will be having out Private Sessions.

Hero takes her hand. "Hey, Ariella. What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire? "

Nova, from the seat next to him, sighs. "A Frostbite, we already know, Hero. Sit down." Hero does as she says and takes the seat next to Nova.

Usually the leader of the Career alliance is the District 2 Male but not this year. Maverick is probably the weakest of us, having no training at all, but he's strong and that's why he's in the Career alliance. Hero, well he's good with a warhammer, which will be useful to us in the arena but he's not good enough to be the Career pack we know nothing about him except that he's good with a warhammer and that annoying joke of his. I swear If I hear it one more time I'm gonna use my sword to do... things you shouldn't do before you get to the arena.

I scowl at him, and am about to mention something about it, when the very first tribute, our ally, is called up to enter his Private Session.

"Maverick Geo, District One."

Maverick stands up as soon as the first syllable is uttered and smirks broadly. As he is about to enter his session, he is stopped by Hero. "Good luck, man. Give them a frostbite." Maverick sighs and walks to his private session.

The minutes seem to tick by as hours, yet, looking at the clock, it has not been all too long since Maverick was called when Ariella is.

Ariella, Hero, Nova and District 3's sessions seem to last four hours each. I rest my elbows in the table for a while and place my head in my hands. I miss Milah. I miss her voice, her face, her smile and her kiss. But If I wanna come back to her, I can't show weakness.

Finally, it dawns on me that it is just about my turn. I am next. It's okay. I know what I am doing. I am a kind person most of the time, or at least I try to be . . .

But on the battlefield, I am nothing but a vicious animal. A predator. And if nothing else, a predator knows how to attack his prey. That's what these Hunger Games are all about, being the predator and not the prey. I don't see how the Private Sessions should be any different if they are all about evaluating our capabilities before the Games begin.

"Kai Brooke, District Four."

I smirk. These Gamemakers don't know what they have coming, but I'm going to make good on my silent pact to myself to be the real Career leader, as Hero is doing absolutely nothing. And part of being the leader involves getting the highest score, and subsequently grossing the most sponsors for us.

Gamemakers, watch out. Because I, Kai Brooke, am about to blow you away.

* * *

**Oliver Cerese, 17 – District 7 male**

**Faith-o-saurus**

**Training Day III**

* * *

I sit at the rope station, using nimble fingers to perfect a simple, yet effective knot while watching the rest of the tributes. The girl from District 1 – I haven't really made it a priority to learn names – has proven to be very effective with a knife from afar and up close, but she's obviously not a cold-blooded killer. I noticed the boys from 1 and 2 joking around a bit during our second training day. Both from District 4 are pretty serious; I'll be sure to watch for net traps, considering their skills with knots. I don't need to see them make any to know – it's common knowledge.

As a whole, I want to keep my distance from the careers until most of the tributes get knocked off. Once they begin to disband, I can start at the weakest of the pack and make my way up. Or maybe let them kill off a few of their own, first.

My eyes stray toward the District 3 boy; he looks around my age. He's throwing a sword around pretty well, which is surprising for someone from 3. Maybe he trained illegally. The only problem is I saw him helping someone out from one of the other districts, which will probably bite him in the ass. On one hand, it could gain him an ally, but hopefully he has the brains to know not to train anyone to your own skill-point. You never want an ally that is stronger than you.

The District 9 girl is going to town on the dummies, slashing their heads off at an alarming rate. She's not a force to be reckoned with. By the smile on her face, you know that she knows it, too. If I were to team up with her, I could see her killing me in my sleep; she'd make a damn good Career.

The boy from District 11 is dominating the agility maze; he's obviously very fit. He's uncharacteristically strong for an outlying district, but I'm not too familiar with agriculture. I doubt they have the heavy lifting that comes with my district, but I guess I can't really be the judge. He should do a course for the private sessions, though; hopefully he's smart enough to choose that, because I haven't seen him pick up a weapon.

I can't help looking over at the kid in the wheelchair, from District 12. I can see those wheels rolling right off of the platform in the beginning, which would be an awfully pitiful demise. Then again, I think they have stoppers on those things, but then he'd have to take it off before rolling to the Cornucopia or away from it. One small movement forces me to take a longer look – did I see one leg move? It doesn't really matter either way; if he used the wheelchair in his district at all times, he still would be uncoordinated on his feet from lack of use.

I turn back to the knot I had finished a good fifteen minutes ago and undo it, before getting up and moving to the climbing station. We have to climb trees a lot back at home, and I've gained a good amount of strength from that and wielding an ax. I don't really care if anyone is watching me – I'm not going to show my full strength, because then they'll look to see if I'm hiding in trees in the arena. Well, if there are trees. The first obstacle is a rope ladder that you have to climb, and then ring the cowbell at the top. Easy enough.

I place one foot in the hole and grab hold of both sides of the ladder and heave myself up. I climb up easily, not even turning it over, and ring the bell. When I look down, I almost laugh at some of the appreciative looks from the females. Some of them are the Capitol helpers, too. I guess it makes my biceps bulge; I idly wonder if I could use this to my advantage. I shake my head and climb back down, jumping from the second to last hole.

Suddenly the speaker turns on. "Tributes, it is now time for lunch. Please make your way to the cafeteria." The speakers fizz before cutting out.

As I make my way over to the door, I wink at the closest girl who I noticed looking, the girl tribute from District 1. I don't bother to look back to see her reaction. All is fun in love and war.

I see that I am one of the first people in the cafeteria, besides the two from 10. They're always around each other; probably knew one another before the Reaping. I sit a few seats down, grabbing a plate and piling on the closest items, which are a creamy orange soup, golden rolls, and some brightly colored deviled eggs. Normally, I would think they were trying to poison us, but that would defeat their purpose. I eat in peace, not really paying attention to anyone that is around me.

"Oliver, right?"

I'm slightly surprised, but only turn to look at whoever said my name, with my right eyebrow raised. It's the girl from District 8; she seemed handy with a knife for the most part. She's pretty enough, but obviously too young for me. "That's me." I simply stare at her, and feel her squirm under my gaze.

"I just…wanted to introduce myself. I'm Velvet." She holds out a hand for me to shake, holding my gaze. I remember her vaguely from an earlier conversation about the different types of wood.

I shake it, while saying, "You obviously already know my name. What can I help you with?" I feel someone listening in next to me, and I'm pretty sure it's Catalaia. I don't really mind; I am her district partner, after all. I lean one elbow against the table and prop my head in my palm.

She shrugs. "I saw you climbing earlier. You're pretty good."

I hope to God this kid isn't hitting on me. She seems a bit too awkward to go for that, so maybe she's just being flattering. "We have a lot of trees to climb back in my district. You were handy with a knife for the most part."

She rolls her eyes, her mood changing in an instant. "For the most part? All right."

I blink. Can someone really change moods that fast? I shrug and turn back to my food, though I can still feel her eyes on me. What the hell is up with this girl?

I hear her sigh, and glance over to see her stand up. "Well, see ya in the arena. Maybe we'll team up."

What the actual fuck? Well, she would be a good enough ally, but not for a long period of time. We'll see what happens.

Once we finish up our day of training, everyone goes back to their floors in either high spirits, or low. A lot of the tributes are afraid of showing weakness in front of the Careers, which is smart, and the downcast ones failed there.

Catalaia walks up beside me. "Velvet seemed pretty interested in you."

I shrug. "I guess."

She rolls her eyes at me and crosses her arms. "She'll probably want an alliance, you know."

I glance over at her with a raised eyebrow. "Why do you care? Did you want to make an alliance with me?"

She shrugs. "It's good when district partners help each other out. Maybe a three-way alliance."

I snort. "Those never work out." I tune her out after, just focused on getting to my room and taking a shower. I've mastered the knobs at this point, and it's actually quite relaxing. There's a setting to help out tense muscles, too. Once we're on our floor and we make it to my door, I say, "Talk to you later." I'm pretty sure I cut her off.

I walk through the doorway and close the door behind me, and head over to the bathroom. I turn on the water to let it heat up and then strip. I get into the shower and turn the setting to a steady pulse and let it work out any knots in my back, my eyes closed in pleasure. I'm ready for a good night's sleep tonight.

* * *

**Paiton Rais, 16 – District 9 female**

**I've got cookies**

**Training Day III**

* * *

_"Now, are you sure you want to work with this weapon? It's quite diffi-" I don't bother to listen to the trainer anymore and quickly step up to behead the dummy in front of me, leaving the trainer staring in awe._

_"I come from Nine, that's ma' thing!" I reply with a friendly grin. The trainer's face relaxes._

…

Huh, the fun times I had just two days ago, it makes me smile even now. I learned that the trainer's name was Grefian. Weird name for a dude. We had some great chats that day. And yesterday. He's quite funny. But today I can't find him at the scythe station, where we had spent so much time for the last two days.

But I can't waste my time wandering around trying to find him. I came here for different reasons, and he has only been a distraction, sadly. I make my way to the scythe station, where the new trainer awaits. I don't bother to greet her. Or read her name tag. _Whatever, let's just get this over with._ So I pick up the scythe.

I look around to make sure the others have noticed me. My whole life I have had plenty of attention from everyone, usually when I would have preferred to be less visible, and now I'm looking around for curious looks - _hoping_ someone will take notice. Like a sick attention seeker.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. _Paiton, imagine the dummy is. . .the male from Four!_ I swing back and with huge force cut off his right arm. _Now it's the girl from One!_ With the same force I cut off her left arm.

_Now it's the creepy guy from Eight!_ I raise the scythe and wound him deeply in the chest. _Now it's the whiny girl from Six!_ I swing from the left side to the right and behead her. _But no, it's a dummy, not a tribute. Let it stay that way. For now._

No more than ten seconds have passed from when the dummy's contents were all in their rightful place. I try to catch my breath and calm down.

"Good," the trainer nods in approval. I couldn't care less about her thoughts, so I just drop the weapon at her feet and move to the next station.

I try to find some Careers. Again, I find myself acting like a sick attention seeker. I should slap myself, but if I did I would make myself look awful, and my chances would return to zero. I mean, the gamemakers are watching us now. And mental state is obviously one of their score-giving criterias. _Ha-ha, good luck Crazy Cat!_

Speaking of scores, yesterday I turned on the television just in time to see the betting odds for this year's tributes. Mine were 7-1, which is not bad, I might say. Of course there where tributes with better odds. . .like that dude from Seven, he was 5-1. And the Careers. With their odds placed at 2-1, 3-1 and 4-1. And then there was the boy from Eleven who had the same odds as me, 7-1. Everyone else is wondering how he ended up that well, but I had stood silently behind the window in the gymnasium doors yesterday after lunch. . .I saw him do some amazing tricks.

Maybe he would be agreeable to forming an alliance with me? Then maybe get the boy from Seven with us. That would be cool.

I make my way to the knife throwing station. Finally, a Career is at the same station so that I can show off. It's the young mother from Two, Supernova. From what I've seen, she and the girl from One are great at throwing knives. While I'm trying not to be terrible, they are going all out and showing off. Two days ago I was just awful with knives, but I've improved quite a lot with practice.

I glance at Supernova. I hope she has seen me working with the scythe, which is a weapon I am great with, just in case this attempt at knife-throwing backfires on me. I pick up the knife and pull back my arm. She does the same thing, though much faster and more precise. Her knife lands in the dummy's stomach. I try to swallow, but it feels like there is something stuck in my throat.

I cannot let them see my fear, I need to kill my fear. There should be none. I should just swing back and. . ._THROW_! I hear a successful thud as the knife embeds itself in the dummy's neck. A new wave of adrenaline and confidence rushes through me. I straighten my back and grin, then I glance at Supernova. I see something in her eyes, but I'm not sure what. Approval, fear or some other, not-discovered-yet Career emotion?

She puts her knife down and leaves the station. Probably to tell her little Career friends how great I am. I bet my brother, Ethan, would be very proud of me right now.

I take the next knife and throw it with more confidence. Unfortunately, this time it lands somewhere in the dummy's leg. Suddenly there is a sound of a whistle, probably to gather us for some collective training. _Good, no one will notice my failure here at the throwing knives!_

The main trainer is waiting for us to gather together at the Gauntlet. All twenty-four of us form a line with no particular order. I see the male from Eleven, behind him stands the weak, crybaby girl from Six. _Perfect opportunity._ I run to the line and push the girl from Six out of her spot.

"You won't mind, sweetie?" I ask her in a sarcastic tone. She is about four or five inches shorter than me; she looks so fragile. Her blond hair is pulled up in a pony tail, her cheeks are red from crying, and her green, glossy eyes show that she will probably cry some more.

I am tall, with an athletic build. My brown hair is done in a french braid, as always; I had my hair like this at the reaping, during the chariot ride (though then it was mashed up and looked bigger, but still) and now too. I should consider it _my style_.

_Gah, whatever!_ This loser with no chance at all looks like she's going to something. I fully turn to her, grin, and cross my hands over my chest. I raise my eyebrows with a questioning look on my face.

"Actually-" the girl pauses, "actually I _do_ mind!" she yells at me.

"Whatever," I say in a ruthless tone as I lean in, "I don't give a shit about what you think!" The girl starts to breath heavily, then she steps out of the line. Probably to run away and cry in a corner.

"No stepping out of the line!" the main trainer yells at her. That draws attention to us. Too bad all of the Careers and the male from Seven are at the begining of the line; this could show my Career potential.

"What's the matter? Huh? No one cares what you think," my grin grows with every word I say. The girl is having trouble looking straight into my eyes anymore, and her breathing begins to get louder, when suddenly, _she pushes me!_ Because of that I stumble out of the line.

Her act of defiance angers me and I launch my fist at her ugly face. She tries to avoid my punch, but the knuckles still connect slightly with her cheek, although little damage is done. After a few stumbled steps back, she straightens up and tries to punch me back. I grab her by the waist and throw her to the floor, on her back. I slowly approach her, not sure what to do next.

The boy from Eleven grips me firmly, but gently by the arm, "Hey, Paiton, right?" He offers up a tentative crooked smile. "Let Aran be; you'll get yourself in trouble for fighting other tributes before the games begin. I'd hate to see that happen."

I look at him. _Damn, he's so friendly. And right._ I came here to form an alliance, not to fight this pathetic little girl. Two peacekeepers run by to lead her to the back of the line.

"Yeah, Paiton, District Nine."

"Clay, District Eleven."

I give what I hope is a friendly smile and laugh a bit.

"So what was that all about?" he asks.

"Umm. . ." I begin, unsure of how to explain myself, "I'm not really sure. I guess I just wanted a spot behind _you_." I lean in close and whisper into his ear, "I saw you after lunch yesterday."

"Oh?" he asks with a hint of surprise.

"Now I want to see some of that action from the front row," I explain, trying to allure him with my nice tone.

"I'm sure you aren't too bad either, especially if there's a scythe involved," he says with a grin.

"Well, if you say so," I smile, adding a bit of a laugh to the end. "Maybe we could meet up after the Gauntlet?"

He raises his eyebrow in question.

"For an _alliance, _silly!In the arena." The line lurches forward as another tribute starts to run the gauntlet.

He pauses before answering. _Is that good or bad, I wonder?_ "All right, I'll think about it," he says, adding with a smile, "And I'll be watching you too."

_Yes! I almost have my first alliance! _I smile madly. I should probably stop acting so excited, or else he might start to think I actually _need_ him to survive. Nothing could be further from the truth.


	21. Private Sessions

**Gemini Dock, 18 – District 4 female**

**Estoma**

**Private Sessions**

* * *

The stone walls of the training room are black and cold. Veins of paler stone run through it in intricate patterns. Some of them look like the wavy lines left by the soldier crabs on the beach. I follow them with my eyes rather than look around at the other tributes.

It's so quiet, though only my allies for 1 and 2 have left. The thick walls seem to drink any sound, and nobody's talking much anyway. Beside me, Kai sits with his elbows resting on the table and his head cradled in his hands. He's been like that since the first tributes were called to the private sessions.

"You alright?" I ask him, speaking softly. "Nervous?"

"I don't know," he mutters, "just not used to being away from my family maybe."

"I miss mine too."

"And our mentors aren't helping!" Kai raises his head angrily. "I know they don't like me."

I look away guiltily and go back to examining the wall. I hope Kai can't see my blush. My mind wanders back to last night. It was after I'd said goodnight that Shar came into my room. He stepped in and shut the door quickly.

"You're okay about tomorrow, know what you're going to do?" he asked.

"I've got it planned out, thanks for all the extra help," I say. I moved to cross my arms over my chest because I was only wearing a thin nightgown, but something stopped me. Instead, I shook my loose hair over my shoulder. Maybe because Shar was wearing a pair of baggy slacks and nothing else.

"Come here," he said, moving to sit on my bed. I sat next to him, feeling his thigh warm against mine. When he put an arm around my shoulders I didn't move away. "Do you remember when we used to swim naked?"

I giggled nervously, trying to stifle it with a hand across my mouth.

"It was so cold, and you were so little, your mother said me and Dagon had to look after you," he said. "We used to tickle you. Are you still ticklish?"

"No," I said, too quickly.

Shar grinned and slid his hands up under my knees. I tried to squirm away but he was too strong. And part of me didn't want to move. When Shar leaned down and pushed me gently back on the bed, trapping my arms above my head, my heart fluttered.

"So this is your weakness, huh?" he chuckled, "Better not tell anyone else how ticklish you are."

"Shar," I said, "what are we doing?"

He shrugged. "Living, while we can?" He punctuated his answer by kissing my neck. His stubble tickled my skin in a way that was completely different to when we were children. "Do you want to?"

"Yes." I couldn't believe I said it, not to Shar, but I did.

When I step into the main training room my eyes go immediately to the Gamemakers sitting at their long table. They wear the same maroon robes they've worn the last few days, but this time they look more intimidating. I swallow.

"Gemini Dock, District 4," I say as firmly as I can.

"You may begin," says the man in the center of the row.

My fifteen minutes start and I can almost hear the clock ticking. But I know what to do; it's like a dance. First I call for a trainer and take up a short sword. The man I'm facing is half a foot taller than me. I think perhaps that's good; I can show them that my height doesn't matter. Anyway, my arms look stronger than his.

Soon the room is filled with the clash of metal as our blunted practice blades come together. I think I see a spark once. Aware of his longer reach, I duck beneath his arm and feel a rush of satisfaction as the blunted tip of my blade rests against his stomach.

While I learnt to use a sword at the small career academy on the peninsula, the next weapon I take up is one my father taught me. The long spear I choose is similar enough to the gaff we use on the boat, to skewer sharks, or the wild marlin. I haven't got any practice throwing it, but I quickly tangle the shaft between the trainer's legs and trip him over. I press the point of it against this throat and let a few moments pass to show I'm serious.

But I've shown the gamemakers these skills before. Now I've got a few minutes left to show what Shar and Leo helped me plan out. Taking a length of rope, I fashion a sling of sorts and fit one of the heaviest clubs into it, slipping it over my shoulders. It's not quite like the hakapik I'd use back home, but it's close enough. I see a few raised eyebrows.

From there, I take a running dive into the pool. Instead of icy cold, I'm met with water as warm as a bath and I strike out. Though the club is heavy, it doesn't slow me too much. For the last ten meters, I take a deep breath and dive, streaking along the bottom of the pool.

When I pull myself smoothly out on the other side, I pull the club from my back on the run. There are three dummies ahead and I swing the heavy club, imagining not a plastic figure, but the great, dark bulk of a sea lion. The head of the dummy snaps back, and then I do the same to the second one. Though I try not to pay attention, I hear little approving murmurs from the long table at the back of the room.

Heart racing, I shake water out of my eyes and spin, throwing the club as hard as I can. It hits the third dummy in the chest and it topples back. The thud echoes around the room. Slowly, I turn to face the gamemakers again, trying to slow my breathing.

"Very good, 4, you may go."

With a quick curtsy, I leave through the far door, hearing the next tribute called. My heart's still racing, and for some reason I can't wait to tell Shar how I went.

* * *

**Metro Davis, 16 – District 6 male**

**madge711**

**Private Sessions**

* * *

I sit beside my district partner, silently waiting for my turn to go in for my private session. I let my mind absentmindedly wander and the only thing that pulls me out of it is my name. "Metro Davis." I didn't even realize all the tributes from districts one through five have gone in already. I stand shakily and follow the peacekeeper down the hall.

I enter the training room alone and slowly walk to the center of it. I really don't know where to start; I did a little of everything in training, trying not to disclose my skills too much, so I didn't really know where I should start. Well… guess I should start with what I know best. I walk over to the knife throwing station and take my time picking up the knives between my fingers, holding two tightly between my knuckles. One between my pointer and middle finger knuckles and the other between my ring and pinkie finger knuckles.

I never even realized how shaky I was feeling until I find myself struggling to keep my grip on the knives. I walk over to the target and try to calm my breathing. As I set up to throw the first knife it slips from my sweaty hand and clatters onto the floor. "Shit," I cuss under my breath. I steal a glance up to the Gamemakers. They may have not been paying full attention before, but now they gaze at me with smirks and amused looks on their faces. Goddammit, why did I have to drop the knife? I knew they didn't take me seriously before, but this didn't really help my case either. An attendant who was silently standing by the door briskly walks over and starts to pick up the knife. "I've got it!" I snap at him.

He looks at me with a bewildered expression. "You sure? How are you going to get it with your one hand already full?"

I grit my teeth. "I'm not helpless you know. Why don't you back the hell off and I'll show you." He raises his hands in surrender and slowly backs away back into his corner. I take a deep breath and turn the knife with my foot. I have done this trick plenty of times; this isn't the first time I have ever dropped a knife, but this time everyone is watching. I put the tip of my toe on the blade to where the rest of the knife is off the ground. I quickly lift my foot a fraction away from the blade and bring my foot down again before it fully hits the floor. The blade comes up rotating in the air, and with practice and skilled timing I catch it between my two knuckles, while still retaining hold of the other knife.

I look up at the Gamemakers and see that some have astonished looks on their faces. I turn my head to the attendant, whose mouth hangs open. I would flip him off if my hand wasn't full, so I settle for a "take that" type of look. I am not usually a rude or crude person, but there is nothing I hate more than being underestimated.

I resume my place in front of the target and let my knives fly. They hit the fake human target and stick: One in the neck and the other a little below the midsection, not exactly where I was aiming, but still better than nothing. I take the knives from the target and throw again, with much better aim this time, and after going through this process three or four times, I decide to show the Gamemakers something else.

There were no cleavers around for me to use and all the axes are much bigger than what I was used to, so I decide to show some survival skills. I wanted to show them that even with one hand I can do what anyone else can, so I show them how I can start a fire, I run through the obstacle course, I tie knots.

I just go around the training room doing whatever I can think of when finally one of the Gamemakers speaks, "Thanks you Metro, You may go now."

I nod my head and take the knotted rope I have in my hand. I cross the room and stand in front of the attendant and I toss him the rope. "See if you can untie that, with two hands," I say. I make my way to the door on the other side of the room and before I exit, I look back over my shoulder at him. He takes me up on my challenge and holds the rope with both his hands' fingers tangled up and a perplexed look on his face. "Sucker," I chuckle under my breath and I leave the room.

* * *

**Velveteen 'Velvet' Oison, 15 - District 8 female**

**Dissection of the Mind**

**Private Sessions**

* * *

"Velveteen Oison."

The voice rings out cool and metallic, without meaning. Like a robot I stand up stiffly, giving a brief smile to Isaiah earning a creepy smirk, of course. It's like a pattern. The sounds of my feet echo in my ears as I open the door.

Today I feel numb and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's the fact I hadn't fully recognized that I was actually here or maybe it was that I have do an excellent job. I doubt the latter. Throughout all of this time I feel as if I have taken things for granted, taking them like they'd magically appear. And I feel oddly guilty.

With a sigh of exaggeration and a sudden ping of nervousness I enter the lion's den. I think. I may be using that term incorrectly for all I know, but in the moment I don't care. With wetness already gathering in my palms I force a bright smile on my face and walk to the middle of the room. The eyes before me bore into my courage and pick me apart as if I was a piece of meat. A sudden cough of annoyance erupts from one of them jarring me into reality.

"H-hi! I'm Velveteen Oison! Or Velvet if you please! Um…today I'm here to…knock your.. Beards! Off!" I laugh nervously wringing my hands together. I feel the artificial smile fade quickly as I jog over to the obstacle course.

"Ah, yes. Because we clearly have beards." one says sarcastically.

The course before me is a few level high each with different weapons and, well, obstacles. I move swiftly to the first 'story' looking back to make sure they see me. When I lock eyes with the one with sparkly lips, I frown slightly because they are distracting. Maybe that's the point, to distract me.

The first level seems to be a maze of sorts, medium height brown wedges making patterns. I look back once more and press a nearby button signaling my go. Without a second thought I begin running only bump into the wedge. I give an audible gasp of pain, yet gulp it down because there are no breaks in the hunger games. I begin to maneuver through stopping at one or two dead ends before I make it to the end and pressing yet another button.

"How'd I do?" I ask without turning around, climbing to the next level.

"You should finish before you ask questions…" A voice behind says condescendingly. I frown yet make it to the top.

This time it's just blank except for a few little slits here and there. A rack of weapons is at my side for my choosing. I have no clue as to what they are for but go grab one anyways. They are there for a reason.

So with an ax now in one hand and a knife tucked into the waistband of my pants because I don't think I can hold both at once, I walk.

The thing that cause me to jump and clutch my heart is.. a person I believe appearing from the slit. I look at it for a moment before shakily lifting my ax, noticing a faint glow of light gathering in its palm. With a yelp I chop off the hand, small wires fizzing from the 'wound'. I don't know what that light was or could have been, but I didn't want to find out.

I run forward wanting to get to the end, looking back at the advanced cardboard cutout I had just de-limbed, though I shouldn't have done that.

That's because as soon as I looked to the front again I ran into a cutout head on. The wind is automatically yanked from my body leaving me with a pain in my lungs. I gasp for air and rub my head, lazily swinging my ax at its body.

I finish the course as my last one because I can feel a bruise begin to form. It hurts a lot and I don't know what to do. Putting the weapons away I walk back to the center of the room pinching my nose incase it starts to bleed. "How'd I do?" I repeat making brief eye contact with one of them.

"Are you going to do anything else, Ms. Oison? Because what you just did wasn't very good." a man with interlocking fingers asks quietly, a laugh heard from one to his side.

Plunk.

I feel my heart drop and I gulp, face heating up. "N-no. I'm actually going to spar. You know?" That's what it's called, right?

"Do we?"

I cough awkwardly as a response and go to a nearby trainer. They offer me a sword yet I decline knowing full well how that goes. Rolling my shoulders I fetch a knife standing up tall. Standing tall supposedly enhances self-confidence.

The trainer motions me forward with a finger holding the sword I declined out. With a tilt of his head he lunges.

"WAIT!" I say brandishing my knife. He pauses momentarily before advancing further.

He swipes at my face narrowly missing it causing my heartbeat to quicken. He swipes again expecting me to do something. Be confident, more people will like you then. I think to myself as he does the same thing. This time though I sidestep lunging awkwardly at the sword with my knife. My metal scrapes lightly across it doing practically nothing. He seems to smirk before aiming at my knife. Impulsively I throw it across the mat throwing myself on my knees. I do a mix between a crawl and a somersault, reaching it as the trainer kicks it away. I then roll backwards grabbing the hilt and slicing at the oncoming ankle.

I hope he has armor of a sort because to me it seems like it could be deep.

He must be (thankfully!) because he only further advances stabbing at the mat, distracting me. A foot presses lightly on my wrist as a hand reaches down to swipe the knife away before I am dismissed.

"Thank you, you can leave now."

"Wha?" I ask to no one in particular getting up all the while.

"Leave." someone replies smugly.

While I exit though all I can think about is the faint pain still digging into my wrist and the hope that I did alright, because if I did decent or good, my alliance will be benefited. The Capitol people seem to like those who do well.


	22. Learning Scores

**Ariella Dawson, 17 – District 1 female**

**Juliet's Shadow**

**Learning Scores**

* * *

I pull my dark hair out of its pony tail, letting it fall free and cover my shoulder blades. I look at Maverick and he smiles. I can tell both of our hearts are beating like hammers in our chests. "Hey, you'll be fine. You're great at knives."

I just let myself shrug. "I doubt I'll get above a seven. I can only do knives. My skills in close combat are limited to high kicks."

He smiles. "Yeah, but you can kick me in the face and I am way taller than you."

I roll my eyes. "I cannot kick you in the face. I can get close, but I can't. I'll probably be the person stuck guarding the mouth of the Cornucopia. Everyone else is better than me."

He looks at me with sad, gray eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

I blink slowly and fold my hands in my lap. "I am telling you this because you are the only one I can count on not to kill me." In the short time I have known Maverick he has become almost like a brother. We look out for one another. "I know Nova, Hero, Gemini and Kai won't kill me unless the going gets rough, but there is still that risk. I don't plan on dying at their hands and I doubt I will but I will not die at yours. That's a fact, right?"

He looks at me with complete confusion. "You think you're going to die?" I feel my mouth become dry and have no choice but to nod. "Ariella, look how strong you are. I can also guarantee you're probably the best liked out of our alliance. Not just by citizens outside of the games, but by the tributes themselves. You've talked to them, made sure they know that you aren't going to hurt them out of anger or rage. You don't want to hurt anyone. You just want to go home, just like everyone else. I've seen the way they look at you, Ariella."

"That means nothing, though!" My shout turned soft and my voice started shaking. "I can't say I regret my decision to volunteer because that little girl, Ruby, would be here in my place if I didn't but now Jayden and Crystalla are going to grow up without their big sister to guard them from Tapaz. Mom isn't going to stand up to him. I don't think I am the strongest one. It is the strongest one that always wins, isn't it?"

Maverick shrugs. "Don't count yourself out yet, Ariella. I'm in the same boat as you." We turn our attention to the television. The scores are about to come on, telling us our fate. "Jadeite is probably going to grow up without his uncle."

Jadeite. His nephew. He talks about him in the most adoring way. If I go home, Maverick dies. I don't think I want to curse that little boy with that fate. "You'll go home, Maverick."

He turns to me. "Are you giving up, Ariella?"

I shake my head. "I'm not giving up. I'm going to live as long as I can. Just, statistically, you, Nova, Hero, Gemini and Kai stand a much better chance than I do. A lot of the tributes are bigger than me, Sebastian from 3, Grace from 5, Metro from 6, Oliver from 7, Velveteen from 8, Paiton from 9, Rex from 10, both Clay and Jennifer from 11 and Ashwood from 12. They could all take me down in hand to hand combat, but they cannot compete with my knives, can they?"

He looks at me with curious eyes. "How do you remember all of this? How do you remember all of their names?"

I let a small smile come onto my face. "Twenty-three of us are going to die. I know if I am one of those, I don't want my name to be forgotten. I would want someone to remember me. If I live, by some miracle, I'll be sure to remember all of you. I have thought of something good about each tribute, like how Nitya is probably the cutest out of all the tributes this year, Oliver probably has just as many sponsors lining up as you, Hero and Kai do because of his looks and how Imogene cannot be as bad as she wants everyone to believe she is because of how she acts around certain tributes, like Rex." I shrug. "I just want someone to remember something about me. I don't want to disappear after I die."

Maverick pulls me in for a hug, like one I would give Jayden and Crystalla. "Ariella, no one could ever forget you."

I smile. "Thanks."

Dazzle and Serendipity walk in soon after our exchange and prepare to talk with us after the scores. Maverick has the first score to come up, a score of eight. "Great job!" I tell him. An eight will certainly make other tributes worry.

My heart beats faster and after tense moments of worry, my score comes up. I also received and eight. "Great job, Ariella!" Maverick and Serendipity tell me. I smile.

Of course, Maverick had the lowest score in our alliance. We save Hero and Nova both scored a nine. After that I felt slight worry when I saw Sebastian score a seven. I don't know how on earth he managed that. My heart became heavy when I saw Nitya only score a four. Kai scored the highest, getting a ten and Gemini scored a nine like Nova and Hero did.

I made note of every score. Jake's six, Grace's five, Metro's five and the low score of Aran's three. Oliver got the same score as his district, a seven while Catalaia scored a five, as well as Isaiah. Velvet scored low, a four. Brandon scored a five and his district partner, Paiton, scored a seven. Rex and Imogene received matching scores of six, Clay scored a seven and Jennifer received a six. The lowest score though belonged to the boy in the wheelchair, Ashwood. He only got a two while Kristen received a six. None of the scores outside of the alliance I am a part of are higher than my score. Maybe I stand more of a chance than I thought I did.

* * *

**Grace Winters, 17 – District 5 female**

**MidnightSnowSapphire**

**Learning Scores**

* * *

Five. That is my score.

That's not terrible, and it may even be more than I expected. During my private session, I had piled sticks in a reasonably efficient stack. And although I had succeeded in choosing the proper rocks out of a display of a dozen or so, it had unfortunately taken me longer than would be impressive of striking them together before I could actually light a fire.

I had wasted too much of my time on it, and I knew I hadn't done anything remotely memorable. The Gamemakers have 24 tributes to judge in all. I would be reduced to a whisper falling on their decidedly deaf ears. I had to do something else.

Since during my training days, I had focused solely on defense instead of offense - survival as opposed to attack - I couldn't very well pick up a deadly-looking weapon and hurl it at a target. They'd probably laugh their colored hair off as they assign me a 2. I had wished I were adequate with throwing knives; that would've at least been an easy 6. But strictly advancing with my confidence in precision pertaining to other things, I hurried over to the snare station. I was admittedly more adept in this area than with the fire - simply because the fire was always iffy about when it decided to work with me.

I was always on target when I fastened a ground snare together, so I did so in front of my judge and jury who were deciding on the chance they were willing to sentence me with. I was barely given the time to finish my snare, and proving its effectiveness thereafter, before I was dismissed indifferently. I could only leave respectably and pray to no one that I had been enough.

I should be grateful I wasn't rewarded with a poor score. A five may actually help me go unnoticed which is a good and a bad thing.

The volunteer tributes won't see me as a threat, so I may not be a target at first. At least, I hope. Theoretically, good.

The sponsors won't see me as anyone worthwhile. Literally, bad.

Kleon Gradizean has already moved on to District 7's scores, and I spare a glance over to Jake and see he's looking at me, too. He smiles reassuringly which I try to reciprocate. After all, we're both in the same boat here. But I'm proud of him for getting a 6. Granted, it's only one more than the fence I'm sitting on, but it's still a better score. Especially for a twelve-year-old, so I sincerely hope he is not being overlooked. It's never likely, let alone expected, for a tribute of age twelve to make a mark on the Games. But Jake's holding his own, and I think he should be getting recognized for that.

He hasn't told me what he did for his private session, so I followed his lead and kept to myself as well. Clarence seems like he prefers it this way anyhow. He comes off as a secretive person, as well as malignant; I suspect he just wants us to stay separate, here and in the arena, so it will be easier later on to focus on supporting only one of us through the Games. I can already tell he's favoring Jake. After all, once I retired to my room almost instantly on the train on Reaping day, they had ample time together. I have no idea what they might have gone over. Maybe they have already devised a plan?

I shake my head, noticing District 9's scores flashing across the screen we're seated in front of.

I don't mind that much. Or, I shouldn't. And besides, when I think about it, I imagine a man like Clarence Thomas would try to bribe or haggle some rich people into sponsering his tribute. He might even lose support. Of course, that might be a stretch as well.

I rub my palms hard over my eyes, willing away the headache nagging at the backs of my eyes. I feel like groaning. Or screaming. Something that will make my thoughts stop producing for once since my name was pulled from the glass bowl. I didn't realize how many trials of hell we were going to be forced to go through before finally being thrust into its deepest circle: the arena. I have to actively make myself remember that the literal game will be the worst event to occur. The battle to the death - massacre of the weak and victory of the strongest left standing - to be broadcasted to citizens of the Capital, drooling for bloodshed; and families of Districts, weeping in grief and sorrow; alike.

Welcome to the Hunger Games, Grace.

* * *

**Jennifer Mulzat, 17 – District 11 female**

**Library2.0**

**Learning Scores**

* * *

We all gather around the massive television in the main room of our apartment. It's a pretty nice apartment, and it's even better being almost at the top. At least we've been able to enjoy this before having to violently murder each other.

The interviews will be after this, but the problem is that I'm only really good with my friends and the Church. That's why it's been hard for me to make friends. I guess I'll cross that bridge later. Now I just have to worry about the training scores.

We barely listen to the commentators as they do their usual banter and crack some jokes.

Cornelius goes to get a cigarette and some wine but hurries back when the scores appear.

Both of the District One tributes get eights which isn't surprising. I see Cornelius write the scores down on a notebook that appeared from somewhere.

"Nine," I hear for both of the District Two tributes. That's slightly better than what District one did. I wonder what they did to get those scores.

District Three is where it starts to change. Sebastian gets a seven, which isn't bad, but Nitya gets a four and I know that won't get her many sponsors. She better be appealing at the interview.

The last Career district gets amazing scores from both of them. Kai gets a ten which is the highest of the night and probably will stay that way. Then Gemini gets a nine which is nothing to sneeze at.

Five doesn't really stand out much. Jake gets a six which is a pretty decent score, even if people don't give it many glances. His partner, though, gets a five which can be just so painfully average.

The boy from Six does the same thing as the girl from the last District and pulls a five. Aran does worse and can only pull out a three.

I hear Cornelius snort but I wonder what I'll be able to get. A five may look like a perfect twelve. As I look at Clay, I can only admire him. I wonder what he'll get.

My thoughts are interrupted as the announcer reads out the scores of District Eight. Isaiah gets a five which seems to be a recurring theme for these past few Districts. Of course we are starting to get into the outer districts so of course scores will be lower.

Velvet gets a four but once again, we are in the outer districts. It is pretty unfair how we always get the short end of the stick when the closer districts get so much better treatments.

Brandon gets a five which is good for a kid his age. It's also pretty obvious what he did during his private time with the Gamemakers considering his fascination with knives during training. Paiton gets a seven, which is almost as much as some of the Careers, so that's good.

Both of District Ten gets sixes so I'm sure a couple people will turn their heads to them.

Finally it's our turn. There's a few seconds as the announcers do usual pointless banner. I feel my hand instinctively reach into my pocket for my rosary. A couple of the Careers had made a couple of jokes about it until I killed some dummies. Then they shut up.

I see Clay's face tighten as the envelope is opened. The man clears his throat and says, "District Eleven: Clay Garner… Seven."

I see Clay smile as Cornelius pats him on the shoulder, "Good job, boy. I'm proud of you."

I've noticed how he seems to pay more attention to Clay. I'm not jealous or anything, it's just a factual observation.

I'm so engrossed by this thought that I almost miss my score. All I hear is, "-ix."

My brain automatically turns that into a six and I'm amazed. It's not like I did a bad job with my private session. I did a pretty good job with knives but messed up throwing a knife because of my nervousness.

Clay claps me on the shoulder, "God job Jen. I figured watching you slice those dummies you would get a good score."

I smile and murmur, "It's not as good as yours."

Cornelius nods, "Impressive. Maybe that God of yours does exist."

I smile as I turn back to the television to finish watching the scores.

Ashwood gets a two which I know must hurt. Sponsors probably won't give him second looks until the interview. And people may tune out when he comes on. Kristen gets a six so she must have done as good a job as I've done.

"Thank you everyone," the announcer says and we turn the television off. The interviews and then…

"Good night everyone," I say as I go back to my room. I'm sure people find me interesting. Hopefully.

* * *

**Ashwood Greenley, 17 – District 12 male**

**Vykktor**

**Learning Scores**

* * *

The more Lazaro prances around the room, the more annoyed I get. I mean, come on! I'm in a wheelchair! How can you expect me to get a high score?

"Oh, this is just so so so so so so so so so so so exciting!" my district escort chirps, doing a happy dance. "Oh, the suspense! It's so…" he pauses and searches for the right word. Finally, he comes up with one, and it looks as though a lightbulb goes on over his head. "Suspenseful," he says calmly, like he's just uttered some philosophical item of genius.

"That was creative," Kristen mutters. I chuckle quietly and Lazaro whirls around.

"What did you say, Kristy baby?" he inquires, thrusting his face in close to hers. If it wasn't for the enormous amount of makeup on his face, I bet Kristen could count each and every pore on his disgustingly joyous face.

"I said that was a creative choice of words," she says uncertainly, looking up at Lazaro nervously. Honestly, I don't know what she's worried about. Our district escort is so overly happy all the time that unless someone insulted his nails, he's just going to stay his same old uppity, annoying self.

"Well, thank you, Kristen, you darling, darling girl, you!" I roll my eyes. This guy is so over-the-top oblivious it's ridiculous.

I'm about to make a snide comment, but the voice of Flavius something-or-other (I don't know his last name) takes hold of everyone's attention before I can. Kristen, Lazaro, Amari (my stylist) and Kristen's stylist – whose name escapes me as well – and I all turn to the television screen facing the furniture. There, Flavius is joined by Kleon Gradizean, the interviewer for this Games.

"Hello, viewing audience, and happy Hunger Games to you all!" Kleon pipes. "I am so looking forward to the results of these private training sessions. Aren't you, Flavius?" he asks, turning to Flavius.

The announcer nods. "It certainly is suspenseful, isn't it, Kleon."

Lazaro jumps up and down like a little kid. "Oh! Oh! Oh! He said it was suspenseful! Just like me! I told you," he shouts excitedly, looking at everyone. "I told you! Suspenseful! Wow! I'm a genius!"

"Yes, you're a genius. Now shut up so we can hear the scores," Amari says, annoyed. Lazaro glares at him, but says nothing else.

As Kleon and Flavius run through their predictions of who is going to get what score, I mentally go through my observations of the other tributes and make some predictions of my own.

Obviously, the Careers are the frontrunners of the Games this year. The pair from Four looks especially menacing. My guess is that one of them is going to get the highest score. I shouldn't be counting out the other Careers, though. The girls from One and Two, Ariella and Supernova, are both shaping up to be worthy contenders. Both should at least get an eight. The boys, I'm not so sure about. My guess is that once the Careers break off the alliance, one of them is going to be the first to die. I'd give the boy from One an eight, and the boy from Two something around that as well.

District Three has a chance at winning as well with the boy, Sebastian. He's going to do well. I could tell throughout training that he was suppressing his abilities. If he goes all out in the private training sessions, he should be able to pull an impressive score. The girl, though, has no chance. I could tell immediately that if she doesn't die from the bloodbath, she'll be hunted down by the Careers within a heartbeat. I'll be surprised if she gets above four.

The same goes for the girls from Five and Six. Neither seems to possess any legitimate survival skills. The boy from Five – I believe his name is Jake – and the boy from Six, Metro, have formed an alliance, which is a smart move on Jake's part, since the boy has virtually no chance of winning. Metro, despite the fact that he's missing an arm, has a fire in his eyes that says he won't go down easy. I expect the Gamemakers will give him a six at the least.

Both of the tributes from Seven amuse me, but for different reasons. Catalaia, the girl, is someone I think I would be able to get along with very easily at home. Her sarcastic wit is very entertaining, and I've found myself chatting idly with her on multiple occasions. It's truly unfortunate that she has to be sent into these Games. As much as I enjoy her company, I can tell that she won't last very long. Oliver, however, looks like he could make it very far. He does very well with an axe, which is expected from a person from Seven. Other than that, though, he just looks as though he could easily hold his own. My guess for him is around a seven or eight.

Clay, the boy from Eleven, is another one that I think has a good chance of surviving for a while. His acrobatic skills far exceed any other person here. I think that he'd be the toughest one to kill out of the 24 tributes, simply because of how agile he is. He should be able to pull at least an eight. Now, his district partner, I am not as sure about. She seems to be handy with a knife and medical supplies, but other than that, I don't see how she could make it far. I've seen her throughout the training days, and I can tell that she would never be able to kill anyone here. That object she has for a district token is a bit mysterious as well. A rosary, was it?

My thoughts are interrupted by my district partner, who jabs me in the arm with her elbow. "They're talking about you, you know," she says. It's probably a pity party, but I decide to turn my attention to the screen anyway.

"So, Flavius, what do you think of Ashwood Greenley?" Kleon inquires. Flavius sighs heavily.

"I almost wish we could find a replacement for the poor boy, Kleon. I mean, look at him! The boy's in a wheelchair, for goodness' sake! What sort of contribution does he have to offer to the Games! My prediction? A two, if he's lucky."

"Things don't look too good for him right now, do they, Flavius?"

"It certainly doesn't look that way, does it, now."

"No, but that doesn't seem to stop his fanbase from cheering him on."

I have a fanbase?

Flavius looks at Kleon incredulously. "A fanbase for Ashwood? What is it, the National Cripple Society?" e guffaws at his own joke while Kleon chuckles lightly.

"You are such a brute, Flavius! Be nice!" he exclaims, feigning shock. "You could hurt the poor boy's feelings!" They both laugh at this, and I tighten my grip on my wheelchair as anger wells up inside me. I've never been one to take insults very well. When Kristen looks at me uncertainly, though, I begin to calm down. No need to make a scene and get upset at a projection. Instead, I try implementing some of the breathing techniques Brandle gave me while we were going through my physical therapy (I might have gotten a little… heated… at times). "But really, you should see the amount of get well messages the boy has been getting! He's probably got thousands!"

"Messages?" I ask Lazaro. He looks at me like I have two heads.

"Well, yes, Ashwood, your messages! You know, on your computer!" he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Computer?" Lazaro rolls his eyes.

Just, just, just, just, just, just, just forget it," he stutters, exasperated. "They're going to announce the scores! Oh, so suspenseful!" he yells. And just like that, the grumpy Lazaro is replaced by, well, whatever you want to call "normal" Lazaro.

"And now, the scores from the private training sessions!" announces Flavius. I only pay attention to a few.

Both tributes from One got an eight.

The girl from Two gets a nine.

Nitya, the small girl from Three, gets a four.

District Four's Kai Brooke scores the most points so far at ten. His district partner, Gemini, gets a nine.

Jake from Five manages to gain a six.

Oliver from Seven gets a seven, and Catalaia gets a five.

The girl from nine gets a seven, and the girl after her, Imogene Guthrie of Ten, gets one less at six.

Clay Garner pulls a seven.

I then see my face on the screen with a large number two next to me. Well, that was expected, considering my disastrous attempt at impressing the Gamemakers.

I roll into the training center to see the Gamemakers sitting in their little lounge area above the training space looking rather bored. When they see me come in, they don't even try to hide their disappointment. A few groan rather loudly. One calls for another bottle of wine.

I try to ignore the glazed looks of boredom on their faces as I swiftly wheel my way over to a training dummy and set it up in front of them. Then I grab a spear off the rack and set my sights on the dummy, backing up until I'm almost at the wall of the training area. I adjust the spear so that it sits in my grip like a lance and I charge the dummy. A battle cry soars from my lips as I wheel myself faster and faster towards the dummy.

I collide with the dummy, sending the spear through its abdomen and me sprawling all over the ground. I crawl back over to my wheelchair and make an attempt to get back in. Unfortunately, this is extremely difficult without using your legs. Soon, my time runs out and I am dismissed, but since I still haven't managed to climb back into the wheelchair, so one of the Gamemakers snaps his fingers and a Peacekeeper immediately rushes up to me and sets me down in my chair.

My entire face goes red with embarrassment. I can't even lift myself into my own wheelchair without my legs! How am I supposed to win the freaking Hunger Games?

"Oooohhhh, Kristy baby, you got a six!" Lazaro's extremely irksome blabber interrupts my thoughts. "I'm so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so excited for you! Are you excited, Kristy baby?" he looks her in the eye and she looks back at him irritably.

"Okay, seriously, Hyper Lips, stop calling me Kristy baby," she says, clearly annoyed. "It, like everything else about you, is extremely annoying! And to be honest, no. I'm not excited. There are Careers going into the same arena as me, and compared to them, I am cat food. Cat food!" she shouts, startling the district escort. "You said Ashwood has tons of fans sending him messages on his 'computer thingy," she says angrily, making quotation marks with her fingers. "Well how about me? Where are my fans? Show me!"

Lazaro, who had been shrinking further and further into his seat as Kristen yelled at him, now perks up. Oh, of course, Kristy ba – I mean – Kristen," he says, smiling a big, toothy smile while Kristen glares at him. Right this way!" He beckons generously at the door and Kristen reluctantly walks with him. Her stylist picks herself up and heads after the pair, soon leaving me alone in the room with Amari.

He glances over to me nonchalantly. "So. A two," he says casually. "What happened?" I point of my wheelchair in response. "Ah." He nods. "I should've guessed."

"Yeah. I charged at a dummy in the middle of the training area, them wham!" I slap my hands together. "Spear goes through its stomach, I hit the floor. They had to get a Peacekeeper to help me into the chair. Can't tell you how embarrassing that was," I say, chuckling. Amari laughs softly as well.

"I bet it was." He stands up. "I'm going to work on your outfit for the interview later. You good here?" he asks. I nod my head "yes". He smiles broadly. "Alright, see you at dinner then!" And with that, Amari jogs out of the room and shuts the door behind him, leaving me alone to watch that image of my face with the two next to it play itself over and over again in my head.


	23. Interview Prep

**Hero Da'Rouge, 15 – District 2 male**

**Fire breathing WolfCats**

**Interview Prep**

* * *

The sound of cheering rose in the distant as I watch Supernova slip into her gown as the stylist busily works on me.

"Oh, look at these pretty hazel eyes," says my Stylist Flavar. She twirls a piece of her light pink hair as she looks me up and down. I look with fear a little as she bites her lips and throws a kiss in my direction.

"Maybe if you come back we can date." She smiles as I feel my cheeks shift to a nice light red. I shift slightly as she looks me around and calls from the rest of my prep team to grab my incredible outfit to show my amazing traits to the capitol citizens.

I am stripped naked as the prep team places a light gray dress shirt on my well-muscled torso, and they grab light gray dress pants. I am twisted towards a vanity table and the prep team busily makes way for me as they massage my face nicely and clean my hair.

I watch as the prep team happily talks about all the male tributes and the female tributes that will die in bloodbath. I nervously think over how the games are a day away and I'll have to outrank all of the others. I am pulled from the table and my skin feels fresh and clean and my hair is fairly shiny. I feel better and more relaxed. As I am placed with thick gray eyeliner on, my stylist places a light gray fedora on with a thick black feather that was placed on the side. I smooth the feather back and smile as I look at Supernova, who smiles at me.

She quietly places a hand on my black vest and the two of us quietly head out towards the line of tributes as we wait for our turn with the interviewer.

* * *

**Oliver Cerese, 17 – District 7 male**

**Faith-o-saurus**

**Interview Prep**

* * *

I actually feel bad for these Capitol imbeciles, always getting dressed up. It's almost unbearable, the amount of discomfort they must suffer to fit themselves in these garments.

Gwendolyn had told me that she wanted to dress me up to fit my personality, which is why I'm not surprised she has dressed me in deep reds and a tinge of black and gray. Dark and detached. The red also gives a nice touch of brutality, which is another strong point, once I had shown my ability with an ax. I could easily chop someone's head off with that. Maybe I'll get the opportunity to see how easy it really is.

Now, she has dressed me in it and is making any last necessary alterations, so I have yet to see what it actually looks like on me; it's some form of suit, and that's all I know. After the fitting is etiquette training with Clementina, and then time to work on my personality with Acton. I'm really looking forward to my time with Clementina, I must admit.

"Turn to the left," Gwendolyn murmurs from her position on the ground, not looking up from my pant leg. I turn and watch passively as she tucks in the bottom of both legs on the pants and sews them in place. She smiles and stands, brushing off her dress. "All right, Oliver. You can go ahead and look."

I clear my throat and turn to the three connected mirrors behind me, still on the stool. Now that I get a better look at myself, I have to admit I don't look half bad. The blazer and pants are coal gray, while the shirt and tie are black. The vest is a dark red that matches my patent leather shoes that she is now polishing. Guess she wasn't done, then, or she realized her mistakes once she looked at me in the mirror.

She brushes off invisible lint on my shoulders and smiles. "I talked to your prep team. Your hair will be slicked back to tame those curls of yours. We've agreed to leave your face alone – well, minus some foundation, of course. Perhaps a little highlighter for those beautiful cheekbones of yours. You'll be absolutely ravishing; practically a model!"

Whatever works, I guess. "All right." I don't really have much else to say. She's the professional in this department, so I really have no right to criticize her work, which is not too bad. She hasn't made me flamboyant; she did exactly what she promised. Stuck to my personality. I imagine myself with slicked back hair and flawless skin, and realize I'll look more than dark – I'll look mortifying. I used to wonder what the devil would look like in human form, how he would draw victims in, and now I realize that the image I had created is standing right in front of me.

Gwendolyn takes a deep breath and squeezes by arms. "Oh Oliver, you will make such a statement out there. You really are just gorgeous; women will sponsor you just to have you after."

My brow furrows. "What do you mean by that?" Have me after? If I win, I'd be going home, away from this place until next year.

I can tell that she realizes her mistake by how she has paled slightly and her fingers are fidgeting with the right cuff of my jacket. "Oh, nothing. Of course, nothing! It is a figure of speech, darling." She glances at the clock so quickly, I'm sure she hasn't even seen the time when she says, "Clementina will be expecting you soon, so we must get you out of this. Come now, dear." She grabs my hand and ushers me off of the stool and to the changing room. "Make sure you don't wrinkle anything, and place it in the plastic cover carefully! The hanger is already in there."

I nod and pass into the room, shutting and locking the door behind me. She's obviously let something slip that should not have, which was further proven by her fear. The only conclusion I can be brought would be sickening to most people, and it almost disturbs me how much it doesn't bother me. I'm no stranger to sex, and I doubt Alma will really care. She's probably in bed with someone else right now, anyway, so it's not that big of a deal.

I shake my head. I'm getting ahead of myself; I'm supposed to be focusing on staying alive to think about those things, first. Is it bad that I'm trying not to smile? I'm fucked up.

"Oliver?"

I glance at the door and realize that I must have been lost in my thoughts. "I'll be out in a minute, just making sure to hang the suit well." That seems to appease her, because I don't hear another word. I quickly change out of my suit and put on my dark blue silk shirt and black pants. I make sure to keep the suit nice and neatly pressed as I stick it back in the plastic covering, then unlock and open the door. Gwendolyn is standing right outside the door, her smile a bit too wide, and I say, "So, Clementina?"

She grips my arm and nods. "Yes, yes. You're almost late, and you know these escorts. Time is everything."

I snort. "You're telling me. It's incessant." The room isn't too big, so the walk to the door only takes a few steps. I pat her shoulder and open the door, but hesitate before saying, "Whatever is going on, or whatever you said…it never happened." I leave before she responds, but it probably appeased her. I usually keep my word.

Now it's time for lessons with Clementina. She gave me instructions to meet her in the main living room for our time together, and we will be going over posture and my "walk". I understand having a girl working on walking in heels, but is it really necessary to teach me how to walk? I know how to walk, for fuck's sake.

Halfway down the hall, I see Catalaia walking toward me, probably going to meet up with Acton. I'm not really in the mood to talk, or not really ever in the mood, so I just give her a glance and continue onward.

"Oliver."

She said my name. She expects me to talk, and all I want is to get to my etiquette lessons and spend quality time with Clementina. I just know I'm her favorite; I almost laugh out loud. Instead, I sigh and turn. "I'm late for my lessons with Clementina, so I don't really have time to chat."

She rolls her eyes at me. "Sorry for taking up so much of your time."

I shrug. "You didn't know any better." The look she gives me could probably kill. That worked effectively, though I might be on her hit list now. Not that it matters much, since I know I could take her. I hear her stomping down the hall behind me and I roll my eyes.

I immediately regret it when I enter the living room.

"Oliver! Do you realize what time it is? Dear lord, you're almost fifteen minutes late! Now we don't have as much time, and then you will be over to Acton and Catalaia to me…oh, we don't have time. We just…" She huffs and sits down on the couch. "Let us just start; we will have to make due. First off, posture." She clears her throat daintily and pats the spot next to her.

I plop down, hunched and legs spread. "Fix me."

She gives me a disappointed look. "Sit up straight, Oliver. You sit like that and no one will want to sponsor you." She shakes her head and fans herself.

I smile sweetly and sit up. "Now what, Clementina? Cross my legs? It might hurt a little, to be honest. Boys are made a little differently."

I can tell she wants to scream at me, or hurt me, or _something_, but that goes against her own etiquette. "Boys cross their legs as well, Oliver, just differently."

Of course I know that, but I know something more fun. "Really? Could you show me, Clementina?"

She blushes and stammers, "I-Oliver, that would not be appropriate. _Girls_ cannot cross their legs like that, and I am in a skirt. Just…do what is natural!"

As much as I love seeing her flustered, I really do want to finish this up. I cross my right leg up on my left knee and sit up straight. "How's this?"

She instantly calms. "Wonderful, Oliver. Absolutely wonderful. You must look comfortable, but proper as well. Luckily, it is easier to teach posture to men. Now, let us work on your tone. You are very…_sarcastic_."

Am I? Not really, except to her. "So, no sarcasm? Just seem as charming as possible. It's pretty obvious, Clementina. I know how to work a crowd." And I do. I would act back in my district sometimes, and I was damn good at it.

She blinks once. "Well…yes, Oliver. Exactly." She's probably afraid I'll take her job. "But your walk! We must work on that." She hops up and grabs my arm, pulling me up with her. "Now, walk over to the wall and we'll go from there."

I sigh and walk until I hit the wall.

"Stop."

No shit, there's a wall there. Let me just walk through it. I roll my eyes and turn around to look at her. "Tear me apart. What do I need to fix?"

If my tone fazes her, she doesn't show it. She simply smiles and motions for me to walk back to her. "All right, Oliver. Now, seeing as you do not need to worry about high heels, this should not take too long. Really, we just need you to walk more confidently."

I raise an eyebrow. "And how would I do that?"

She demonstrates while saying, "Chin up and shoulders back." She starts to walk forward. "You want to keep your steps strong and firm. Square your chest, and make sure to smile. You must seem like you want to be there."

"Makes sense." I walk how she wants me to. Of course I have to act like I want to be there. How else am I supposed to make them love me?

"Perfectly done, Oliver. Really, I am quite proud." She comes over and gives me a small hug, which I instinctively cringe away from. I've always hated hugs, even from my own family.

I pull away and run my fingers through my hair. "So, anything else?"

She purses her lips and thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. "Everything else is Acton's job. I'm more for the girls, I'm afraid."

I stretch and look toward the hall. "All right, then. He should be done with Catalaia, right?"

She looks toward the clock. "Well, seeing as how late you were, they should be done soon. You are lucky you're male, or else we would have had much more to work on."

"So, can I wait in my room?"

She sighs. "Oliver, by the time you walk all the way over on the other side of the floor, their time should be up. Please, just take your time getting there and everything will be over before you know it."

I nod, looking her over. Have I really worn her out this much? We haven't even been here that long, and I have been a model student. Well…kind of. "All right, fine. See you at the interviews." I give a small wave and head out into the hallway, making my way toward Acton's room; it seems that the whole floor is completely deserted. It's amazing how deafening silence can be. I've been surrounded by people constantly since I've been here, and a moment of peace is almost disturbing.

When I make it outside of Acton's room, I can hear him and Catalaia talking. It's only muffled sounds from out here, so I can't make out what they're saying. Not that I really care. I put my back to the wall and slide down to the floor to wait for my turn. I close my eyes and clear my mind, and before I know it the door is opening and footsteps are moving away.

"Oliver?"

I open my eyes and look at Acton, who is smiling down at me. This is going to be painful; I swear, if he gets sentimental, I will leave. "Yup." I get up and move past him, into the room. It's almost an exact replica of mine, but I'm guessing all of the bedrooms look like this.

Acton shuts the door and motions for me to take a seat. "Go ahead and sit down on the edge of the bed, Oliver, and we'll get started."

I do as I'm told. He takes a seat next to me, a little too close for comfort. Then again, I guess for anyone else this is a pretty normal distance. "Now, Oliver, the point of the interview is to help get sponsors. Everyone needs to act charming to some degree, but we also need to highlight your unique qualities."

I lean forward so that my elbows are on my knees. "Which are?" I think of Gwendolyn's mishap earlier, and wonder if I should bring it up. I wouldn't rat her out, though, as I promised. Maybe later.

Acton mimics my posture. "You're very…detached. This means we can't play the sympathy card. What we need to focus on is your brutality, much like your outfit. That will show you as a worthy competitor; perhaps even the careers will want to look at you.  
Even though charm helps snake in sponsors, if you don't have the stomach then you're not going home alive."

I nod. It's simple enough; these people, they want you to seem like them. To see being chosen as a blessing instead of a curse. In other words, act like a career. "So, what great advice are you going to give me?"

He takes a deep breath and rubs his hands together. "Now listen, Oliver. I've seen you act before, in District 7. What I want from you is this: come out charming, appeal to the audience. I want you to only show your lack of…emotions, for lack of better words, when focusing on the Games, but _only_ then. Perhaps you'll be asked about your feelings and how you think you'll react to a kill – use it then."

"I can do that." I didn't think Acton would know about my acting, and it actually kind of unnerves me. That means he has seen me before; I wasn't just a face.

We spend another hour going over my act; we did a few practice interviews, each going a different way. By the end, I feel like a pro.

Acton smiles and heads to the door. "This went well, I think."

I stand. "Seems so. I'll be sure to knock them out." I shake his hand when he holds it out, but hesitate, before asking, "I remember hearing something, probably from some Capitol woman or another. They were talking about me. If I won the games." I'm sure that this will work, since I can see any Capitolite slipping up.

He stops short. "I don't quite understand." But he does. His shifting eyes prove it.

"How they would _get me_ if they sponsored me." I'm heading in the dark now, and I'm hoping that my earlier conclusion holds some truth.

Acton is silent. "I'm sure…they were just…" He runs a hand through his hair, a bit frazzled.

That's how I know I chose the right words. I've already gotten all of the proof I need, so I figure I should put him out of his misery. "Probably just Capitol talk. I'm not really worried or anything; just curious. No big deal." I shrug and begin to walk toward the door.

"Oliver?"

I look over my shoulder. "Yeah?"

He stares at me for a moment, and then continues on. "You really do have a chance. Just play your cards right."

I have nothing to say, so I give one nod and continue on. I feel confident. Controlled. I can win this.

Just like he said, I have to remember to play my cards right, and right now each card is a Capitol face.

* * *

**Velveteen 'Velvet' Oison, 15 – District 8 female**

**Dissection of the Mind**

**Interview Prep**

* * *

"Ow!" I exclaim, wincing slightly.

The plump lady towering above me just smiles and shakes her head in a giddy way. I hold back the urge to roll my eyes as she rubs this lotion into my skin. I feel rubbed and raw not to mention exposed.

"Oh.. Velvet! You look fabtrocius!" she exclaims ripping me off the table. I wince in slight pain but manage a nod. Wait.. fabtrocius?

I look at her back blankly as she rifles through clothing. She mutters and yelps every now and then causing even the cameras to look at her. Which now that I think about it it's a bit creepy. What are we watching for? This isn't some porno. Though.. the Capitol citizens might purchase it.. whatever. I shake my head from those disgusting thoughts as my arms raise unwillingly.

The stylist steps back in awe, her green crusted hand squeezing her mouth. "You look.. great! Oh my, when Ciren hears about this.." she continues babbling. I sigh slightly before moving to a nearby mirror. I gasp slightly because the color I have on compliments my olive toned skin.

It's a dark magenta dress that's sleeves end on the edge of my shoulders. Continuing from that point a black, intricate fabric with spaces in the designs reaches a tad below my wrist. Brown buttons garnish the front of my dress from my neckline to just below my chest, the bottom of my dress designed with brown flowers and lines. My stylist hands me black tights and short, brown boots and I eagerly put them on. I have never felt so nice. The chariot ride was me dressed up as a thimble and now.. I have no clue what I'm supposed to be but I like it.

"OMF!" she exclaims in letters. "Your hair.. let's give you soft curls! Yes! Extensions and maybe some color... no, wait.."

"Soft.. curls?" I mutter cocking my head.

I have no clue what she means by that exactly but I'll go with it. 'A' told me to act sweet and fierce but I don't know if that's even possible to pull off. I want to be myself, whoever that is and wow the crowd. Yet, A said if I act like they said then everybody will be falling head over heels to sponsor me. I hope that's true because I'll probably really need it.


	24. Interviews

**Maverick Geo, 16 – District 1 male**

**Salt the Snail**

**Interview**

* * *

_For everything you lost and all you overcome_

_I wanna be the one to put in a song_

_Take every single tear for all the world to hear_

_I wanna be the one to put it in a song_

_And make it last forever_

* * *

My body cannot help but shift and crinkle under the thick layer of itchy fabric that my interview suit is made out of. I should be thankful to be wearing clothes at all, after being forced into what my stylist classified as my Chariot Costume. This time, it is a little more tasteful, thank the stars, but it does little to calm the irritation.

"Stop fidgeting and act like a man." His voice is slurred, going right through me. "Honestly, act like the volunteer that you are."

"Act like a man?" I repeat, my nose inches from his face. "I've been a man, Daz. For the past two years I've been the man that you should be."

He doesn't speak; instead, he just fixes my black bow-tie. The smell of clear liquor invades my nose, nearly making me vomit on myself. If there is one thing I am thankful for, it's the fact that my sister doesn't have to see him like this. Dazzle was a drinker when he came home from the games; it was his coping mechanism, a way to forget the children he slaughtered just so he could live. She got him to quit and straighten up his life. They created life in this time, but he couldn't handle the responsibility of taking care of someone or something that wasn't him, as well as deal with the stares of those from his old life when they would discover he knocked up the daughter of a Cave-Dweller.

"My interview was a work of art," he stated, more so to Ariella than to myself. "Kleon really puts you at ease, but you need to stick to your angle."

My angle. Dazzle tried to make me into a miniature clone of himself and portray Maverick Geo as ruthless, playing on my intimidating size. To go against everything that makes me, well, me. That isn't going to happen. They can make me train, they can force me to kill, but they can't make me into some sort of a monster, not matter how hard they try.

Next to me, Ariella shined like the diamond she was. Her silver dress might have matched my tux in color, but it looks much more comfortable in her outfit than I do in mine, or she was better at hiding the irritation. Her hair was all pulled up on top of her head and dripped with diamonds and rubies, which made me wonder if I had mined for them myself or if it was any of the other hard-working guys I deal with on the daily basis. The same jewels were woven into my hair and it made me sick to my stomach.

The attendant came and told us all to get in line, in order of our districts. We started shifting; alliances said good luck as they broke apart. The younger tributes stared hard at me, as if I would pound the life out of them if left unguarded. I hated their stares most of all, I'm not much different than the rest of them and I wish they could see that. I'm part of the 'cool kids' by default.

Kai stopped me on my way past him.

"Do us proud, miner boy."

Another way of being reminded that although I am considered a Career, I will never fully be one of them.

Kleon's voice echoed around us, making my stomach lurch just a little.

"Please welcome to the stage, all the way from District One; give it up for ARIELLA DAWSON!"

The crowd went insane as Ariella turned and faced me, giving me a comforting smile before joining Kleon Gradizean on the stage. She was radiant, her dress hugging her at all the right points. If I didn't have Amber to go home to, I would have been drooling all over her like a helpless puppy. Kleon swooned as well, complementing her and praising her stylist.

Behind me, I heard a hiss.

"Mav...hey, Mav."

Hero, my only friend here besides Ariella, motioned for my attention and he got it as soon as I turned my head.

"Did you hear the one about the guy who lost his whole left side?"

I shook my head, although I'd heard this one years ago.

"He's alright now."

Hero's laughter roared over the uneasy tension in the air, which only seemed to make Kai brood just a little more than usual. Even serious Nova giggled, which didn't seem to go over well with the powers-that-be. Seriously, what is it with these guys? Lighten up; he's just being a kid.

"Good one, Hero!"

On stage, Ariella was knocking Kleon dead, telling him of how she would use knife throwing as a form of therapy for the way she was teased for looking different and how she has two little half-siblings waiting for her back home. I couldn't help but get a little lump in my throat when she brought them up, it's another reminder of how all of us have someone back in our district, begging for us to go home. Families, siblings, friends...

Nephews...

My eyes find Nova, the only one of us Careers with a Reaped status hanging over their head. She has a little boy waiting for her back home and yet, she is here because no one would dare volunteer for a trained tribute. Like Ariella, she also reminds me of Amie, and I make a mental note not to be the one to kill her.

"Now, let's give it up for District One's Male Volunteer, MAVERICK GEO!"

The crowd was like a cage animal, roaring to life as my name echoed across them. They love me, Maverick Geo, the miner's son from the poor side of the Luxury District. Or, at least, they love Maverick Geo, the boy dressed in jewels and little else. The boy that managed to get himself a Training Score of Eight. The boy that is going to have to slaughter innocent children if he is ever to see his family again.

The stage lights blinded me, making it hard to find the couch to start my interview. Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead, dripping into my eyes and my hands began to shake. Get it together, Geo! You are a Career now, start acting like it.

"Maverick, your Reaping was a bit more...emotional...than we are used to seeing from District One. Care to elaborate?"

I finally get a good look at Kleon and gasp. He's green! Not even a calm, serene green or a strong dark green...neon freaking green. Neon green frosted hair, neon green tie-less suit, even his eyes! It makes it hard to look at him, but I soldier through it.

I clear my throat and answer. "Franco, the kid that was Reaped, he's my best friend. I knew he'd never make it, no offense, Franco!"

Laughter echoed through the crowd and suddenly, I felt at ease.

"He's as gentle as they come, really," I continue, the audience was eating out of my hand. "Wouldn't hurt a fly, he barely likes getting his hands dirty in the mines!"

"We heard down the rumor line that he wasn't the only friend of yours to be Reaped," his voice was like a million nails driving themselves into my skin. Tears threatened to pepper my eyes. "Granite Jax, who died just a few hours into the Third Annual Hunger Games."

Behind me, a screen flashed a scene I've played over and over again in my mind. Granite, running through the trees, his orange backpack weighing his tiny frame down. My eyes dart forward, I don't need to see the rest. He grabs my hand and squeezes it sympathetically as I hear the tell-tale battle cry of the District Six female as she leapt from the tree to his left and tackled him to the ground. Granite's screams of terror cut through me and I feel like I am twelve years old once again.

And then, his neck snaps.

The crowd gasps and my body follows suit. Kleon's grip on my hand gets tighter, as if he knows how much reliving Granite's death is killing me. Despite his outrageous attire, he is actually a helpful and decent guy...for a Capitolite.

"I'm sorry to make you relive that," this time, his voice is sincere. "Was this the driving force behind you volunteering to spare the life of your friend?"

"Well, it was a large portion of it, yes," I answer honestly. "Another part of it was pride."

"Pride?"

"Everyone has a pre-conceived picture of what life is like in District One, that we are all living in mansions of gold and silver," I began, my voice growing stronger. "That's not the case for all of us. You think we are all dripping with jewels, but you don't know what we go through to bring it to you. The honest, hardworking people that break themselves, every single day, just to put food on the table for their children. People like my sister, who works every single day for her son, my nephew, because his father couldn't leave behind his house made of gold and own up to his responsibilities."

The crowd was silent, as was Kleon. Given my size and brooding expression, people don't usually see me as being an articulate guy. I love stunning people with my words, it makes me feel like my father.

"Well, I'd love to ask you more about that but-" he doesn't have a chance to finish that sentence, as the buzzer goes off and ends my time on the stage. "MAVERICK GEO, DISTRICT ONE EVERYBODY!"

Once again, the crowd roars and I walk off with my head held high. As I pass by the line of children waiting for their turn in the hot seat, they do no shrink, nor recoil in terror. For once, I am on the same playing field as they are, a kid just like them. I might have chose to be here, but it wasn't for the glory or fame. It was to prove that there is more to us miners than the dirt under our nails and the dust in our lungs.

We are a united force to be reckoned with. We are Panem.

* * *

**Nitya Allardyce, 12 – District 3 female**

**Apples of Idunn**

**Interview**

* * *

I nervously clench and unclench my hands as the districts that precede mine are called one after the other. Finally, my name is called and I nervously make my way up. I shake Kleon's hand and take a seat on the chair next to his. I smile quietly out at the crowd as the applause quiets down. I don't get as much as the Careers, but that's expected.

"So, Nitya," Kleon says, smiling charmingly at me. "How do you feel?"

I shrug, taking a breath before speaking, choosing each word carefully. "I feel... a little overwhelmed, to be honest," I say. "The size of the Capitol, the training, the luxury. It's all very breathtaking."

He laughs. "I'd imagine. The Capitol must be enormous compared to District Three. And you're small compared to most of your fellow tributes." I force a giggle, nodding as the crowd chuckles.

"Yes, I suppose I am," I reply.

"Do you think that will be an advantage or a disadvantage in the Arena?"

I think for a long moment. "Well, I guess since I'm not much of a fighter, it would be an advantage. I'll be able to hide in smaller places, and climb trees higher than the bigger Tributes," I say quietly, my shyness returning.

Kleon nods. "Yes, that does sound like a good strategy. What do you think is your biggest weak point?"

I know I should lie about this, my adversaries are watching, listening to my every word. "Running. All the smog in District Three has made it difficult for me to run long distances, because my breathing gets labored."

He nods again solemnly. "You are a very pretty young lady, Nitya, any boys waiting for you back home?" A deep blush crosses my face at the thought of Ovid. A sly smile crosses Kleon's.

"Oh, so there is." The crowd "ooh's" coyly, "anything you want to say to him? And your family for that matter?"

I bite my lip. "Oh, just know that I'm going to try my hardest so I can come back to you. And mom, dad, Fin, I'll try my best not to disappoint you." The crowd and Kleon 'awws' and I blush deeper.

"That's very sweet, Nitya," he says. "Your face is almost as pink as your hair bow. Speaking of which, what is your favorite color?" I think for a long time.

"Olive green," I say, "it's such a unique and beautiful color. Green of any shade is rare in District Three, but the little there is, I try to appreciate as much as I can." He nods again.

"And-" the buzzer goes off and Kleon smiles, standing. I stand as well. "Let's give a big round of applause to Nitya Allardyce of District Three!" He exclaims, gesturing to me.

I looked towards Sebastian as applause rings in my ears. I curtsy slightly and exit the stage, my knees wobbling. I collapse in my seat as Sebastian takes the stage. I feel very hot under the lights, and hope against hope I won't pass out and cause a scene. I zone out as the remainder of the Tributes are called, and before I know it, I'm back on the third floor of the training center.

* * *

**Sebastian Grande, 17 – District 3 male**

**Mikey Jacquez**

**Interview**

* * *

This part of the campaign isn't my favorite; then again, nothing much is. But if there's anything I hate the most besides getting reaped, being taken into custody, and being thrown into the arena where your odds of winning are very slim, it is the televised interviews.

"So, how did you feel when you were reaped at the reaping?" is the question that our interviewer, Kleon Gradizean, has always asked almost every tribute from the past six years. Every answer is always, "Well, I didn't expect it," or, "I was scared to death." But for me, I did it for someone that I mostly love, someone who I've pretty much treated like my own child. I'm pretty much dying in the place of someone that I love.

"You don't talk much, do you?" my stylist, Yohan, asks as he plucks a few tiny bits of hair from my thick eyebrows.

I stay silent for a moment.

"Sebastian, let me ask you this one question," he finally finishes with my eyebrows and takes in a deep breath. "Do you even want to win these Games?"

"I just…" I begin, "I don't know. Maybe I do, maybe I don't."

He sighs.

"I know that's something you don't want to hear, but I just don't know at this point." I finish the conversation before Kellye, Nitya, and Phoebe join us to walk towards the interview.

Each interview is five minutes long, so it means you are only limited to five minutes in order to impress everyone and a chance to get sponsors. In the past years, I think during the first, an interview was cut short due to problems with that tribute. That tribute later went on to be a bloodbath victim at the beginning of those Games… I wouldn't be surprised if that happened to any of us.

Every tribute is right here—all of them, including their stylists, mentors, and even escorts. I see District One's female tribute, Ariella Dawson, standing next to Maverick over there; the both of them with serious and fearless look in their eyes. I'm willing to bet everything I have left that either one of them will come out alive—they're the ones who have what it takes. They're the ones whose odds are in their favor. I don't have time to stop for a minute and breathe or even take a small breathe before, within a blink of an eye, my name is called. There isn't a loud applause from the crowd or even many cheers; after all, I only got a score of seven for my private session. I wasn't, at all, expecting any loud cheers from the crowd anyway, so I'm not disappointed. I guess Yohan's right—I guess I don't really care if I win these Games or not. I'm not the very least excited, and I can't even put the smallest smile on my face. I just swallow a ration of my own spit hard, and begin to walk towards the stage.

"Well," says Kleon as the both of us take a seat, "Sebastian Grande, you've been here and there, impressing a few people."

I force myself a smile.

"I guess," I simply say and the crowd laughs, including Kleon.

"Tell me, did you know how to use a sword back home, or did you just pick it up and mastered it here?" he asks.

"I actually had one back home, and I would sometimes use it just for fun. I never thought that I would actually use it to kill anyone, but I wouldn't necessarily say that I've mastered it," I explain.

"I hope you don't mind if I say this, Sebastian, but you seem like the type of young man who never seems happy. Does it have to do with something back home?" he somehow can read my mind. But I know that everyone knows why I look like this, obviously because of my facial expression.

"It's…" I start, knowing my exact answer. "It has nothing to do with home," Sorry, Techno, "You know, I volunteered for someone and I'm just here concentrating and trying my best. I don't need or want any attention, because I know that if I don't slack off during training, then I'll do well in the Games. I didn't come here to make any friends, because we're all going to kill each other. I know that nobody would want me as an ally—I'm perfectly fine with that and in my view, I don't think you need an ally. Sure, they're helpful, but I feel like you grow trust and some sort of feelings towards them that when it comes down to where it's time to kill each other, you're pretty much killing someone who protected you from the others. You're killing a friend that you made by helping each other. And I didn't come here to kill a friend."

The crowd is completely silent, and I can't help it but let out a sigh. Nobody wants to hear what I just said—they want to be entertained, but I make it impossible by showing my true feelings.

"That was…" I'm sure Kleon didn't expect that for an answer. "That was something," he finally says, "That was something, Sebastian… that truly was."

I look down, staring at the unusual type of shoes I'm wearing. The Capitol is far different than our clothing back home.

"I have another question," he says, "That tribute that you volunteered for… that was your brother. Is there a particular reason why you volunteered for him?"

"He has a reason to live. He still has a long way to go, and I have to protect him. I'm seventeen and he's thirteen—you can't just take away the life of a thirteen-year-old. But you can try to take mine, because I refuse to give up. I hope I do get out alive and show him that there's still hope for something. I hope I can go in the Games, and prove to everyone that I have what it takes. It may be hard to believe, but I think I have what it takes to win. I hope I can set an example for him. But if I die, he'll know that I died for him. And I hope that shows a sign of courage to everyone," I look at the crowd, "I hope and I'll try to prove myself to all of you."

The interview seems shorter than what I imagined by the way that Kleon shouts my name one last time and the audience emerges into applause, louder than the previous one when my name was called. I finally let out a smile—not a fake one, not a forced one, but a real one. I guess I finally found out how I truly feel about going into the Games. I know that I have to try, especially for Techno. But it doesn't have to be all for Techno; it can be for my whole district as a matter of fact. I definitely know now that when I go into the arena, that I'll try my best. I know I won't be the best one, but I can try to be one of the best. I have to be brave and face everything I have to, because who knows? Maybe I can be District 3's first-ever victor.

* * *

**Jake Noir, 12 – District 5 male**

**Black Angels13**

**Interview**

* * *

I remember one day in the power plant how my life was nearly over.

I was eight, so roughly four years ago, I was working in my usual field, wiring and circuitry, and my hands were small and bony, made for the tasks presented to me.

That day started so simply,

I got up, my grandmother gave me my uniform, and then I walked over to the shuttle stop with Grace. It was broken down with busted windows and a sputtering engine. We boarded, we got to the plant and I started my work day.

As I made my routine examinations as Grace left to do her jobs, I fidgeted with the circuit breaker. I took notice of a bad wire in the mix, a loose connection, the rats probably got to it. I grabbed it with my gloves hands to fix it and once I touched it, my hand went numb.

I felt a shock, pure numb and jitteriness electricity shocked through my body, I felt purely amazed at how fast it felt, and after that simple second of a jolt, everything went black.

Then I saw a golden light, two figures, a man and a woman who held hands, they said my name, I felt so calm, my body was at a blissful state, I wanted to join them.

Then I could feel my body again, I was pulled out of this place, I felt the cold air of the plant, I saw people crowd around me, Grace was crouched over me, the workers all looked amazed as I stared back.

I got up as I looked at two workers with paddles that had medical emblems on their overalls stared at me as I shook violently.

Grace put a hand on my shoulder as I realized what just happened.

"You were dead or 5 seconds, are you ok?" She asked as she hugged me.

I had died.

After that, I went back to work,

So now I'm ready for my interview with Kleon Gradizean. He's a complete Capitol stereotype, I actually see that most Outer District tributes were trying to hold back their laughter as he interviewed them.

Kleon's hair is frosted with green dye and spiked up, he has long eyelashes that are about an inch from his eyes that have green tinted ends. His tux is shimmering in the spotlight with green colored rhinestones all over his tux and pants, his dress shoes have thicker more masculine but still pretty feminine heels and gem encrusted socks, his voice is a little squeaky and annoying.

The Capitol is odd, scary, but Kleon ironically makes me feel...at home.

"So tell me Jake, we're all interested in you I'm sure, a boy of your age, from the outer district such as Five, volunteering! Let's give him a round of applause!" Kleon says smiling and laughing, raising his hands as the crowds cheer and clap.

It's a show, these people live off of my entertainment value, or should I say I live off my entertainment value really.

"So why'd you volunteer?" He says as the cheering stops.

I think about my actual reason I volunteer, to bear my face and show the true face I the rebellion, it's scars, it's sadness, and its pride that my grandparents both fought for in the darks days and lost, we were crushed, they broke us, beat us, but we still stood taller than they ever will.

But I know I can't tell them of this, it's foolish, if I say I'm apart of the rebellion I may be arrested or tortured in the arena, I think about my answer carefully as I make it up as I go along a few seconds after he asks with intrigue.

"I did it to show my District's pride, to show you are never too small or poor or challenged to be strong, I believe we are all strong." I say, this is perfect, I'm not really lying, just not telling them the whole story.

Good enough for them.

They cheer, they love me now, I show my true colors and that clearly cute to them, I'm not stuck up like most people in the Capitol are like, I am strong, scarred and beaten, but like the rebellion I never do really fall, I am put down but I know I will get up, sadly for the others, they don't know that.

"So, why do you think you're going to win the Hunger games?" Kleon asked relaxing into his seat.

"I'm good at hiding, I can make traps and I can make a weapon out of basically anything, I'm fast to, so no one can catch me. I catch them." I said with a strong look as the crowd cheers at my confidence, I sold it perfectly, but I hated myself for it, I feel I sold myself out.

What a dumbass I've been.

* * *

**Catalaia Boyd, 16 – District 7 female**

**ThatOneMentalChick**

**Interview**

* * *

"Here's your dress." Vianey chimes from behind me. I turn around, and watch as she unzips the bag.

"I like it." I say.

"It's definitely rebellious, like you." She says, bopping my nose. I resist the urge to bite her finger. The dress is sleeveless on one side, but has a silver glittery shirt like piece to cover my right breast. The rest of the dress is black, and goes up to my thighs. The other side has a long sleeve, with little rhinestones at the cuff.. To top it off, black pumps (Maine wore a pair to do my make-up today, this is how I know) with little rhinestones on it.

To top off the outfit, my hair was curled and had glitter sprinkled into it. Heavy red lipstick, black eyeliner and mascara was added. It makes me look twenty-six and not sixteen. My nails had little red sevens painted on them, with a black background.

"You remember your angle?" She asks.

"I don't have one." I answer.

"What?" She asks.

"You heard me." I say.

"What are you going to play at? I can't believe Acton is seriously going to let you go out there with nothing."

"I'm going to be myself. My angle is me." I smile. Vianey groans.

"The capitol will burned to the floor before your interview is over." She shakes her head.

"Vianey, darling. I can't believe you think so lowly of me," I say in mock hurt. She goes to say something, but I cut her off with "I'd go lower if I were you."

"May we have all tributes line-up now. I repeat, May we have all tributes line up?" a voice on the intercom says.

"Let's go." She says, ushering me outside. I stand behind the boy from six, chewing my dark hair nervously.

"Are you hungry?" Oliver asks from behind me. I whip around.

"No. Why?" I ask. He chuckles.

"You're chewing your hair like mad." He points out. I quickly drop my hair, and throw him a middle finger. He laughs.

"Snappy today." Oliver mumbles. The girl from five steps up, and I take a seat in a chair.

"Yeah, make all of Panem like you, or you could die. No pressure though. And god dammit would they speed this shit up already?" I hiss.

He puts his hands up and backs away.

I close my eyes and go back home. Right now, Vero, Gail and Kevin will be sitting down to watch my interview. Bailey will be in bed, seeing as its way past her bedtime in District Seven. The bastard will be out drinking, then coming home to use my sister like every night. I wonder what I would do. Wait, I got this. I'd be out, pulling some sick scary prank on a peacekeeper then watching him piss himself on fear.

It's my favorite pastime at home. With a life as screwed over and shitty as mine, I need a smile. So usually, I set up something twisted to fuck with some poor peacekeepers mind. Every once in awhile, they'll piss or shit themselves. My favorite one to mess with is this twitchy asshole named Cartel. He's arrested me so many times for harassment, I've lost count.

The boy from five is called, pushing me back to the Capitol.

"Fuuuuuuuck." I moan, knocking my head against the wall behind me. I try paying attention to his words, but he's so damn boring, I wind up playing with my hair.

The girl from six steps up. I start to get antsy.

What if I mess up? Say something stupid, start crying, trip and fall on my walk on stage. Or even worse: Kleon asks about my family. I don't want to talk about them. That's... that'd be the most annoying question he could ask me. I dart my green eyes around and groan.

"Metro Davis everyone!" Kleon says, and the boy from six goes out on stage. My hands get clammy and sweat, and I wipe them on the seat. I chew on my lip, and try and stay calm. Minutes ago, I wanted it to be my turn, to finally go. Now is the time to wish to be born in Twelve. It'd be lots easier. Metro seems to please the crowd, and I regret not paying attention. I needed to take a look at my competition. During training, Paiton (the girl from nine) and I had grown an alliance, and I only looked at her strengths. Everyone else had been pointless. I worried about learning stuff I didn't know, and whether or not I could truly trust her. Now I see that was a big mistake.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Metro Davis. Now this next tribute had a smile on her face and a plan on her head, Catalaia Boyd people!" Kleon says into the crowd. They clap and cheer like animals, but they do that for everyone. I put on my best smirk, and walk out on stage. I turn my eyes on Kleon and keep that contact.

"Hello, Mr. Gradizean." I say, and he kisses my hand. I try not to repulse.

"Hello Miss. So, how is the Capitol suiting you?" he asks.

"Oh it's lovely; the people here are especially nice." I smile.

"Well, I hope. What about your reaping? That laugh, the smile, what'd it all mean?"

"I was laughing cause well... let's just say I have a beautiful plan decided for the arena. And it was so beautiful... I had to smile." I lie.

"Oh, well we can't wait to see it. Now tell me; is there anyone with a target painted on their back for you?" he asks. Well. That was sudden.

"To be honest? Yes. Quite a few. But that's not my style. I'm planning on laying low. Killing only when need be. After all, there's a target on my own back for some the tributes. I don't want to be the one everyone chases after, you know?" I answer honestly.

"So, with stealth?" he suggests.

"That's kind of the gist." I say.

"Ah, clever. And the tributes? Any thoughts on them?" he asks.

"Let me just keep those thoughts to myself." I wink. The crowd laughs.

"Okay, let's get to know the Catalaia Boyd. Let's start with family? I'm sure you have one." He questions. Damn.

"Yeah uh... two sisters, a step-sister, and a brother."

"Parents?"

"I'd rather not..." I say dangerously. My words say I don't want to talk about it, but my tone says that he's treading on thin ice.

"Oh, but why not?"

"Next question." I growl, lowly, so only he can hear me.

"But-" I lean in, putting my lips close to his ear.

"Next. Fucking. Question." To the crowd, it looks like I'm being chummy and secretive, but to Kleon, I'm writing his death note.

"Ah... Well.. uh..." He clears his throat. "You said you had siblings. What are they like?"

"They're a mixed bunch. The oldest is the wisest, but the second youngest is the smartest. The youngest is the sweetest..." I trail off. I don't know them to know their names. I couldn't... No I refuse, to put them out there like that.

"But...?" Kleon dares me to finish.

"I love them. And I would do anything for them. Even if it means," I gulp. "Even if it means killing. To come home to them."

"Well, that's all the time we have left. Catalaia Boyd, everyone!" Kleon says. I wave and smile to the crowd, then walk off and sit next to the boy from six. A backstage director hands me an earpiece.

"Hey there, good job. I got a few sponsors. Let's see what Oliver can do." Acton says.

"Thanks." I say, and turn off the ear piece. "Good luck Oliver."


	25. Night Before the Games

**Rex Kingston, 16 – District 10 male**

**Sixty9ing Chipmunks**

**Night Before the Games**

* * *

If this is to be my last night alive, there are things I wish I could do. Smell the high grass behind the slaughterhouse just one more time, maybe even run freely in that same high grass and reminiscence about the days when I did exactly that with the scarlet-headed girl in the room across from me. I'd tell my sisters that I loved them one last time and remind my parents that they need to hold it together for them. I'd kiss a baby, scratch the belly of a little bitty kitten, ride bareback on a horse through the meadow. Drink my first beer, set my affairs in order, actually kiss a girl.

Tell Imogene that I love her; that I always have.

No, I can't do that. This is a fight to the death and love will just complicate things. Why fill our heads with something that fate will never allow?

My fingers fumble their way around the remote, switching on what appears to be a situation Television show that isn't about the Hunger Games! This must be what they watch between the coverage and during the off-season.

_"Cartalosono! How could you just walk out on your own twin when he needed you the most." The blonde woman with the butterfly wings attached to her back pleaded with the man with the blue-tinted skin and body tattoos. "He may be evil, but he is still your brother!"_

_The blue-tinted skinned man scoffed, his acting terrible. "But that is where you are wrong, Mariposa...I AM THE EVIL ONE!"_

_And, with that, he pulls a knife out and stabs the butterfly lady in the stomach, leaving her to die alone._

Who could possibly watch this garbage? Who could possibly have a brain that small? The sound of Synthe sniffling from the living room area answers my question. Part of me feels sorry for people like him, people from the Capitol that can not seem to think or feel for themselves. Some have to believe the Hunger Games and the treatment of us District citizens is wrong, that sending children to die for the faults of our parents is pure cowardice. Not everyone can be as evil as President Cross and the people responsible for the Games every year, can they? No, I can't believe so. While we are held down by poverty, violence, and class distinction, the Capitolites are kept fat and happy, which insures loyalty to the man that kills children right before their dyed eyes. It's a vicious, vile cycle that I am now a spoke in.

But I won't let them change me. They can force me to fight, but I will forever be Rex Kingston of District Ten.

As I start playing with the channels on the television, I find one that looks vaguely familiar. The woods – the stream – prairies that go on for miles and miles.

Home.

For the first time since I said goodbye to my family, tears spill from my eyes. I thought I had excepted the fact that I will more than likely never see District Ten again, that my sisters will grow up without their big brother, that my mother will mourn for her only son, that my father will be forced to work extra hours on his strained joints just so no one will have to take Tessera, but I haven't. Lita, she needs me. The twins are too young to take a job at the Slaughterhouse, nor would I want them to; they need to be children for just a little while longer.

I want to go home. I _need_ to go home!

A knock on the door brings me crashing back down to reality.

"Rex?" Her voice was soft and velvety, soothing me with just a single word. "Can – can I come in?"

Almost instantly, my body snaps out of it and I find myself waltzing to the door. She stands there in simply an over-sized t-shirt and her head bedridden and I have to admit, she has never looked better in my eyes. But then my eyes find the bruises around her neck, the ones that she has yet to explain, and I can feel the rage building in the pit of my stomach, churning and mixing with acid-like bile. With a simple gesture, I welcome her for the first time into my room and my eyes never leave her as she makes her way to my bed, her tiny frame shaking just a bit, Colt the wooden horse in hand.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she begins, pushing a few stray hairs out of her face. "But I can't sleep and I needed a friendly face."

Then, she surprises me. Her arms pull me in, wrapping themselves around my neck and pulled me into close. The smell of berries and vanilla invade my nose as her scarlet hair brushes against my nose and I can't help but breathe it all in. My arms follow suit, pulling her in until I can feel her heart beat in time with my own. We stay this way for several minutes, until she suddenly pulls herself away.

"Is that home?" My heart drops as she leaves my arms and makes her way towards the television. "It looks like the woods and stream near my house."

She walks backwards until the back of her legs meet my bed and she sits down. Without missing a step, I move towards the bed and sit next to her, making sure to leave a little room between us. That might have been the first hug I've gotten from her in years, but I know her. She doesn't let just anyone close enough to her, even me. This must have been a momentary lapse in judgment.

"I found it while flipping the channels," I inform her, my hand shaking as I place it within inches of her body. "Does this mean they have cameras set up in the Districts?"

All I can do in response is shrug my shoulders. "I don't know, Genie. Honestly, I wouldn't put it past them. Nothing the Capitol does is for shits and giggles, there is always a reason behind everything. Hell, I wouldn't put it past them to have rigged each and every Hunger Games."

Her face grew pale. "Don't speak like that, Rex."

"Why not?" I ask, my voice never wavering. "What's the worse they can do to me, kill me? We live on borrowed time, we are dead children walking. Every victor, every single victor came from a district better off than our own. The Luxury District even pulled out a win and they are nothing more than poodle dogs for the laps of the Capitolites. Four figured out what they had to do early on and Two, well, I'm convinced they aren't right in the head at all. Seven – he was a fluke, but even they are trained in their own way. We tend to the animals, be it raising them or slaughtering them. Slaughtering cows and bulls and even pigs aren't the same as taking the life of another human being; a child at that."

"You are going home, Rex," she stated, as though it was simply the truth. "No me, not the mother from Two or the brutes from Four. Not the gimp in the chair, not the other members of our alliance, not the little children, not the bitch from Nine. You. You are the one that deserves to go home. You refuse to let this place change you, you are letting it change and bend to your ways. You are a hero – I'm just the bastard daughter of the town slut."

She brushes her hair behind her shoulders and the bruises seem more defined. Then, I noticed the tears that fall from her olive-colored eyes and my heart shatters.

"You are more than that, Genie," I croaked, holding back my own matching tears. "After everything you've been through, you shouldn't end your life on the end of some Career's spear or at the bottom of some Gamemaker's trap."

"Right, because I have so much to go home to."

"You have your mother."

"She's better off without me, ok," she retorts, her face growing red. "The only reason she does what she does is because of me. Without me, she'd be able to live a comfortable life." She pauses, wiping the tears away. "Can you promise me something?"

"Anything."

"If you win, take care of my mom," her voice is strong, positive of the future. "She deserves so much better."

"Only if you do the same for my family when you win."

The screen, which seemed to show the same scene on repeat, changed to show cows grazing in the background and fowl clucking around. We sit for what seems like forever, watching the animals, the silence between us becoming thick and awkward. My eyes keep finding reasons to find her face, innocently at first and the, more often, as if I was trying to convert her to memory. It wasn't fair; the moment I get her back in my life is the moment I am sentenced to death.

"I – I – I," she stutters suddenly, drawing my gaze once again. "Rex, I don't want to die!"

She collapses in a heap in my arms and it catches me off guard. Imogene Guthrie was a lot of things, but one of those things is not someone that crumbles in the face of insurmountable odds. To see these Games break someone as strong as her was the straw that broke my back, so to speak. The only thing I can think to do doesn't require much thought.

My lips find hers, quieting her cries right away.

I expect her to pull away, to slap me or worse. Instead, I find her folding into me, her body giving in, my teeth pull on her bottom lip. Before I know it, her nightshirt is on the floor and the world is spinning out of control. We both know we should stop, that we shouldn't take things to the extremes, and yet, it seems like the only part of this situation that makes any sense. In an era where time is limited, we remained frozen in just that, giving ourselves to a god that promises nothing in return. My mind races, sweat breaks through my skin, and I gaze into the paradise of olive green. Her eyes do the same, her body shutters and lets out a small, but powerful moan with each thrust. I am gentle, or I try to be, as I know this must be painful for her. To her credit, she doesn't let it known if I am hurting her. Instead, she holds onto my back, as though she would lose me if she let go.

Afterward, we do not speak. No words are needed. I hold her bare body against my own and try to remember every single detail of this night-

For it is my one, perfect night.

* * *

**Jennifer Mulzat, 17 – District 11 female**

**Library2.0**

**Night Before the Games**

* * *

Lying on my bed, flipping through channels, I hear shouting from downstairs. While I can hear the raised voices, I can't understand them through the floor.

I slowly open the door and sit at the bottom of the stairs leading to my room. I know it's wrong to eavesdrop but the Hunger Games are soon so why not. I finally realize that it's Clay and Cornelius going at.

"Why didn't you tell us you were O.K.?" I hear Clay ask.

"It was too dangerous to come see you guys. Your mother knew that I was a member of District 13 when she fell in love with me. She knew I left because I loved her," I hear Cornelius say as I realize what this argument's about. "I didn't know we had a child together until I saw your name - my old name - on that slip of paper that I pulled out of the Reaping bowl."

Cornelius Husk is Clay's dad

I guess I should have realized this from the similarities, but it still comes across as a bit of a shocker. I'm snapped back to reality as Clay says, "Ever hear of letters? Ever hear of homeless men that will carry notes to someone for money?"

Cornelius snaps back almost immediately, "Ever hear of keeping the ones you love safe? If they found out I was in contact with your mom . . .or that you existed. . ." He shakes his head. "Besides, what do you want me to do about it now?"

I hear nothing but silence from Clay.

Cornelius continues on, "All I can do now is help you and Jennifer tomorrow. Remember during the Games that I'll be watching you and helping."

"Oh yeah? You're going to make up for your absence now? By watching me die?" I hear Clay say sadly as he walks away. I hear Cornelius sigh and stomp off to his room.

Clay walks into the living room and goes to a window. He slides it open and steps onto the balcony. I know that if he jumps, he won't die.

"You might not want to do that," I say anyway. He startles at my voice and turns to look at me.

"You hear that?" he asks, cocking his head to the side to listen.

I nod, "Yeah. I saw an Avox jump earlier and they were catapulted back."

He looks down again but comes inside, shutting the window. "I know you heard," he says as he sits down beside me and sighs, running his hands through his hair tiredly. "I've known it. I just didn't want it to be true."

I shrug, "At least you have parents. My dad became abusive after Mom was stung by those Tracker Jackers that Peacekeepers shot down."

"I guess," he shrugs and looks at my pocket, "Your rosary is about to fall out."

I look down and put it back in my pocket. He comes closer and asks, "What is that anyway? I know it's a Rosary, but what is it for exactly?"

"Praying," I say. I pull it out again and show him how to start and pray the decades. He listens intently, so I start telling him about more than the rosary; about various scriptures in the Bible and that Heaven waits just beyond death. His attention doesn't waver as I explain my faith, which I love him for. When I finish, he just nods.

I hear a throat clearing behind me, "If this wonderful Kingdom of Heaven exists, no one should be afraid of dying in the Games."

I shrug, "Everyone's scared of dying. Even if you know what's on the other side, you're still scared of the act of dying."

"Then why doesn't God come down in his infinite wrath and kill President Cross?" he questions me again.

"God doesn't have infinite wrath; He has ultimate power. Besides, he only helps those who help themselves."

"That's all we do," he counters.

"Is it?" Finally he stops talking, but I press, "You said 'maybe there is a God' when I pulled that six for a training score."

He gives a deep laugh, "Ever hear of sarcasm?"

He laughs, "Ever hear of joking?"

I sigh and turn back to Clay, "Got any questions?"

He shakes his head, and I turn to Husk, "Do you have any questions?" To my surprise, he shakes his head. I address both of them, "Then goodnight to both of you." I go upstairs to shower and change into sleeping clothes, all the while listening intently to see if there's any more conversation, but I am disappointed. I go to bed, but right when my eyelids are becoming too heavy and I'm almost asleep, I hear voices.

I go upstairs to shower and change into sleeping clothes, all the while listening intently to see if there's any more conversation but am disappointed. I go to bed, but right when I'm in that part of sleep where you're almost asleep, I hear voices.

"I've been watching you here during training, and I'm proud of who you've become, Clay."

"Thanks. I plan on making all of District 11 proud."

They both chuckle at Clay's bravado, and the last words I hear are Husk saying, "That's my boy."

I should be distraught by the faith Cornelius is putting in Clay's performance, but I have my own faith. I smile at their moment of happiness.

I lay my head back upon the overstuffed pillow, so different from the one on my bed at home. I think about Lily and how she might be coping with my absence. I nod off while dreaming about Ceol kissing me after the Reaping.

* * *

**Kristen Shaner, 15 – District 12 female**

**24mayhem24**

**Night Before the Games**

* * *

I slip out on to the roof straight after dinner, letting the words of my escort wash over me and send my mind into a state of unexplained detachment. I'm not feeling scared, I'm not feeling worried; I am aware of the aching of my muscles from training but I don't react to the pain. When I whisper to myself, just to test my reaction: "I will be competing in the Hunger Games tomorrow", nothing happens. I repeat myself. "The Hunger Games are tomorrow."

And again.

"I will be fighting for my life tomorrow."

And again.

"I could die tomorrow."

Still no pain. I try one last time.

"I might never see my mother, step-father or Lionel ever again."

And then my knees buckle and I fall to the ground with a dull thump. I press my nose to the floor and bitter, salty tears flow down my face as I cry. I stretch my arms longingly in front of me and feel the smooth but cold concrete floor. I raise my arms, clenching my fists until my palms start to throb and then bring them down with all the force I could muster. They crash hard against the ground, and my body shakes with anger, sadness and pain.

I think about all of the people I am up against: the Careers- trained throughout their lives to kill, the tributes from the Outer Districts- who just want to go home. And I think about my chances of survival. I try to form some sort of calculation, but I've always been hopeless at Maths. Nitya, the girl from District 3, could solve anything and everything in a flash. I think about her little freckles and realize that she is a lot like Lionel- sweet and kind, but with a softer side. My little brother Lionel would be happy to see me talk to her. But I could never work up the nerve to talk to anybody here. I can barely look at Ashwood for more than a minute. He's at a physical disadvantage and he still seems like a better contender than me.

Well, if he won, I guess I would be happy. Maybe my family would be caught up in the festivities that they'd forget about me for a while. That would be nice, and it couldn't be that hard.

I laugh dryly. It's like what Lazaro said. "Kristen, you've got a bee-you-tee-full face, but you're so easily forgotten. Nobody remembers you." What an entirely useless, but completely accurate mentor he was. Spent half the sessions we had together teaching me to spot the cameras and play up in front of them. Because, honestly, he's right when he says that the only way I will get sponsors is through my looks.

I still don't have any allies. I doubt anybody would take me up on that offer. What good would I bring to an alliance? I take a minute to look out over the Capitol from the roof. The garish colours are illuminated at night, and everything is almost too bright. I prefer the subtlety of wolf-grey and pale blue. I turn away and move towards the bushes. There's a nice, comfortable spot in the middle of two bushes, so I nestle my way in and close my eyes. Maybe this is how I'll be during the Games. I'll find a good spot to hide and just stay there, hoping nobody will find me. But if none of the tributes find me, one of the Capitol machines surely will. It's been this way for a couple years. In the first few Hunger Games, I vaguely remember reports on how the citizens in the Capitol were bored by just the tributes eventually finding each other. The Gamemakers decided to cause 'accidents', like a spark in the middle of a forest suddenly turning into a wildfire, or a flash flood.

I hear a creak and I step out of my place in the bushes. Ashwood is there, looking at me intently.

"You've been up here since after dinner?" he asks.

"…Yes."

Say something, I think. Say something about being allies. He's your only hope.

"Uh... Kristen?"

"What? Sorry, I was just…" I trail off pathetically.

"So, are you nervous?" he continues, smiling slightly.

I nod, then wonder if I should have shown weakness.

"Well, I guess it's natural," he shrugs. "I'm going to head to bed. Night."

"Ashwood?" I stand there, frozen.

He wheels himself around again. "Yeah?"

"I don't know if you've got plans for the Games, but… Do you maybe want to partner up? Like a District Team, or something? The cameras will love that!" I add quickly.

He scratches his head, not saying anything. You're stupid, Kristen. Stupid.

"I was actually thinking that I would go for it alone. But thanks, it's nice that you thought of asking me. There are loads of other people without allies, though." He gives an awkward smile.

"Oh, okay," I try to play it cool. "No worries. I think I'll head to bed too. Goodnight."

I walk past him as quickly as possible, looking down and holding my breath.

Get out of there. Now.

I run to my room, climbing in to bed and shutting my eyes tightly, hoping that time will speed up. Maybe I'll sleep right through the whole of the Hunger Games. Maybe they'll forget about me.

After all, I'm Forgettable Kristen, right?

Wrong.


	26. Morning Before the Games

**Cookies A/N: So lately I've been slacking off, so sorry! But I'm bringing to you now the last Capitol chapter! You know what is next? The launch! And then the Bloodbath! How fun is that? XD**

**Okay, onto the chapter now! XD**

* * *

**Kai Brooke, 18 - District 4 male**

**BecauseOfKillianJones**

**Morning Before the Games**

* * *

_"May I present to you, the victor of the Seventh Hunger Games, Kai Brooke!"_

_I had a bloody sword my hands. The bloody body of a girl was dead at my feet._

_I looked down to see who it was. Only it wasn't any of the other tributes._

_It was Milah. My Milah. Dead._

I woke up startled with a knock on the door. Quickly, the knocking on the door had become a banging, and I got out of bed to answer the door. I walked across the room slowly and wiped the sleep out of my eyes.

I unlocked the door and then opened it to see our escort standing there with a big smile on his face. I noticed he was wearing two pairs of clothes in his arms, one for Gemini and the other for me. "Time to wake up!" she said. "Today is the big day! The Hunger Games offically start in an hour!" She handed me a pair of clothes and left. I went into the bathroom to shower. I took a very quick shower, and I go out feeling refreshed. I walked over to the mirror and did my usual routine. I left my hair on it's messy state, and I brushed my teeth. I looked at myself in the mirror. _I was ready, I trained for this. I'm going to make my District and Milah proud_. I tucked in the shell necklace. It was now time to put my arena outfit on.

I slid on some hick, black pants with pockets and a fleece layer inside, and then I put on the large a moisture-wicking fabric t-shirt .I then put on strong boots that lace up. i smiled at this. All these years, Tide and the other trainers have been teaching me how to prepare for every possible environment that could possibly be the arena, as black clothes mean low temperature, it's probably a frozen weastland.

I enter the dining room to see everyone waiting for me. Our stylists and escort seemed very happy, and also did our mentors but I know they don't like me. The prefer Gemini because they knew her before the Games, well let them. Once I step foot in that arena they will see who the real Kai Brooke is. I took the seat next to Gemini. She was wearing the same outfit, but her t-shirt was made specifically for girls. I noticed that shewas shaking a bit while drinking her hot chocolate.

"So, who are you two feeling?" Leo, my mentor asks.

"I'm ready. I really can't wait until I step foot on that arena." I say.

"Good. That's good, Kai. But remember Kai, not much confidence." Leo says.

"What about you, Gem?" Leo asks.

"I'm fine." She says, still shaking a bit. "I'm as ready as Kai is."

"You two still have that promise going on?" Shar asks, looking a bit nervous.

"Yes." I say. "We'll not kill each other. We'll focus on killing the other tributes." I attach my arm to Gemini's.

"Okay everyone!" our escort yells out. "Grab a quick bite to eat because we're leaving in five minutes!" our escort soon turned around and started up a conversation with the stylists and mentors. I pour myself some water and eat some light breakfast before our escort started calling to us. "Ok everyone!" our escort says. "It's time! Now if you would all follow me!". I stand up. My arm is so tightly attached to Gemini's that I drag her up with me. At first she remains quite still.

"Lighten up, Gem," I tell her. "You only get one shot in this after all."

"Please do not tell me what to do, Kai," she says, politely.

She knows I'm right though. She knows that you'll never have another shot at this, and she knows that it means she must make every second count.

She around, refusing to look me in the eye. I swear I hear her mutter a thank you though.

"You're welcome, Gemini m'lady," I mutter back to her. "I've got your back."

We all start following behind Merman. We first got into the glass elevator for a last time before the Games. We then got off the elevator once we got to the main floor, and our escort then led us to the main lobby. I looked at the sparkling chandelier as I walked underneath it. It was swaying slightly, and I felt Gem grip my hand a little bit .

Our escort then led us down a hallway we hadn't been down before. There wasn't as many doors in the hallway, but there was still a few here and there. This particular hallway seemed to go straight forever, but we finally reached two single metal doors at the end of it.

"Okay everyone!" our escort yells. "This is goodbye. Your mentors will lead you the rest of the way!" Merman quickly shakes my hand and hugs Gemini. I extricate my arm from Gemini and kiss her hand. The, Leo leds me throught the elevator behind the metal door and give some last minutes advices. We arrive in a rooftoop where a hovercraft is already waiting for me.

"Good luck, Kai." He says and shakes my hand.

"And may the odds be ever in your favour!" I laugh and walk to the hovercraft without looking back. Before I arrive to the door of the hovercraft some peacekeepers appear out of nowhere and escort me inside the hovercraft. There are twelve seats in the room, and they all are occupied with tributes except for one empty one. I was practically thrown into the chair, and I was told to put some sort of seatbelt on. I looked around at all the tributes and noticed we were all wearing the same arena outfits. Only twelve tributes were here so the other twelve must be in the other hovercraft. I'm sitting between the 12 year old from District 3, and the boy from District 9. The nurse looking lady is holding some sort of large metal looking tube or needle of some sort. She suddenly walks up towards me and instantly takes hold of my left arm.

"it's your tracker." she says as she inserted the tube or needle into arm. I watch the thing enter into my skin. The hovercraft started making a weird sound again, and all the tributes including myself looked around confused and startled. It felt like the same feeling as when the hovercraft slowly started up. I then realized that the hovercraft was slowing down, and I knew it was flying lower towards the ground. We were now about to land, and that meant it was almost time to go into the arena. I hear the girl from District 6 sobbing. Pathetic. Crying will not get you very far in the Hunger Games. Being a fighter though, that will.

* * *

**Brandon Heath, 12 - District 9 male**

**The Mockingjay Lives**

**Morning Before The Games**

* * *

_"Early morning cheerfulness can be extremely obnoxious."_  
_-William Feather_

* * *

"Goooood morning, Patty! Did you have a good sleep?"  
Paiton's eyes fly open, and she swears, evidently startled by my face inches from hers. She leaps out of bed, ready to get herself some Brandon a la creme, then she realizes she's in her nightgown.  
"Crazy Cat," she growls, "I'm going to kill you."  
"Nope, you mixed us up! I'm going to kill you instead! Now put on your clothes, or I might just throw open the door."  
I saunter away, giggling, as she spouts a torrent of profanity and slams her door so hard a picture falls off the wall and breaks.

I'm. So. EXCITED!

This is my final morning before the Games! Barely any time left! The killing actually starts today. I can just imagine the blood seeping into the ground around my victims, my clothes and new knife stained scarlet. I can't wait for the squelch of bursting organs, the gargled screams of dying tributes. Killing people will be so much more fun than killing creatures, because people are bigger and tougher so they'll last longer while I'm playing with them.  
And people can scream.

There are a few I'm definitely going after. For one, Paiton, or as I affectionately refer to her, "Patty," "Pat-pat," "Pitter," or "Pocus." She's so annoying and mean. I mean, wouldn't you much rather be tortured by me, so at least I'm having fun, or be locked in a room with Pat-pat? Exactly. My version of torture is more merciful. You'd beg for me to kill you after just one hour with Pitter.  
And there's Nitya Allardyce, known to me as "Nitwit," "Nighty-night," or "All-of-her-dies." Get it? All-of-her-dies? Allardyce? Ha ha ha ha ha...ha ha...ha. Never mind. She's only twelve, like I am, and she's such a scaredy-cat. It's like she's actually not glad to be in the Hunger Games! Crazy, right? She'll be so easy to kill.  
I could kill the guy with one arm, what's-his-name? Oh yeah, Metro Davis, or "Mighty Doofus." He's got one arm, did I mention? It'll be so easy to kill him. Just a quick kick, a knee in the nose, and while he's falling over since he can't keep his balance with only one arm, I'll stab! Of course, I'd like to play with him first.

"Hello, Brandon! Aren't you excited?"  
It's Desaree. The only person who understands how thrilled I am to be in the Games.  
"What do you think?" I roll my eyes. "Of course I'm excited! Why wouldn't I? Soon I'll have new people to kill, maim, and dismember! I'm going to pull out their intestines! Huh, that makes me hungry for spaghetti. It is breakfast, anyway."  
"Okay, dear," she says, backing away and tittering nervously. "Have fun, and don't die."  
I freak out everyone, even Desaree.

Humming cheerfully, I waltz over to the buffet table. There's an avox waiting by it. I snap my fingers, and she leaps to attention, hurriedly bowing to me.  
"Get me some food," I tell her. I don't need to say please. Avoxes do my orders anyway.

After she fills my plate with the things that I've eaten almost solely in the Capitol- cake, cookies, and sweet fruit- she balances a glass of fizzy drink on her head and places everything on a table. Everything except the drink, which she drops and shatters on the polished marble floor.  
She makes frantic gestures, obviously trying to apologize, and starts to mop it up.  
"Hey, it's okay," I say sweetly, reaching for a knife on the table. "You don't have to clean it up. After all, you'll have more to clean up in a second."

She looks puzzled for a moment. Then I stab down into her hand, making blood spurt out and stain my crisp white suit. This is wonderful! I haven't gotten to do this since the Reaping day!

She lets out a choked gasp, unable to scream, and clutches her wounded hand to her body. I don't see if she runs for help, though, because I'm already dancing back into Pocus's room.

"Hiya Patty! Having fun? Like my shirt?"  
"Brandon, why the hell is there blood on your shirt? And I just finished changing! If you had walked in a few seconds earlier, you would be dead," she roars, hastily doing up the last buttons on her shirt.

"Oh, so sorry, dear Pat-pat," I say breezily, sticking my tongue out at her. "There's blood on my shirt because...I went forward in time, killed you, took a bath in your blood, forgot to dry off, and ate a blood cupcake on my way back to this time."  
While she's processing my insane explanation, I jump onto her bed and throw the pillow at her. "Pillow fight! Come on, Pitter, whatcha got?"  
I sway back and forth, waving my fists like a boxer, her mattress creaking like a ship at sea. She hurls the pillow back, hitting me in the face.  
"Wow, good job! But I've got one better!" I grab her blanket and leap off the bed toward her. "Cannonball!"  
I throw the blanket over her head and push her over. While she's yelling, I run full pelt out of her room. I pull open every door I see, shouting and laughing and screaming at the top of my lungs.

I'm utterly, indescribably, unspeakably, unstoppably crazy. Wheeeee!

* * *

**Imogene Guthrie, 15 - District 10 female**

**Nrrrd-grrrl-Meg**

**Morning Before the Games**

* * *

"_I'm the one that's got to die when it's time for me to die, so let me live my life the way I want to." -Jimi Hendrix_

* * *

My body settled into his like it belonged there, like nothing else in the world mattered. His breath warmed the base of my neck, his arms protected me from the sun that threatened to rise and spoil this perfect night. But, alas, the sun always rises and I could feel the heat hitting my bare skin even though the sea of blankets we had entwined ourselves in. His coughed gently and pulled me closer, my body still fitting in the groove of his own, our combined warmth spreading through me, head to toe.

He must have thought I was still sleeping, because he softly moved my crimson locks and whispered in my ear, "Can I keep you?"

Silent tears fell from my eyes, giving into the gravity of our situation. How does one answer something as simple and beautiful as that, knowing these could be our last hours of life as we know it? How does one go on as if nothing happened, that last night didn't change everything? We gave each other something that we can never take back, something that even the Capitol couldn't take away. But if it was something so beautiful, why do I regret it?

Regret...that might be too strong of a word. After all, the thought had of been in the back of my mind when I knocked on his bedroom door in the middle of the night when sleep evaded me. And I could have said no at any time, but my heart fought against my mind at all turns. No, it isn't what happened between us that I regret, it's the timing, the whole situation behind it. It's the Hunger Games, that's what has my head reeling. When I die, Rex will go home. He will have knowledge of what was done here, what transpired between these sheets. I know him, I know him better than he knows himself and what I know is this – it will eat him alive. He will believed he took advantage of me, that he forced me into this. He will suffer for this.

And if I live?

No. I already made peace with this. Rex Kingston deserves life outside of this arena, his family needs him back home. If the "God" the girl from Eleven keeps babbling about does, in fact, exist, I made peace with him. If only I had a wooden "T" like she has, maybe then I can know that he heard me. For now, I'll have to try this _praying_ thing that she does. Maybe I can promise not to kill anyone, to only maim and injure. After all, in all six years of the Hunger Games, no one has ever punched someone to death. At least, not that I know of. Then again, the Games haven't seen the likes of me and my whole "6" Training Score. Besides, who could I really take out in this place?

The pair from One are out of the question. The boy seems like a sweetheart under all of that muscle and from what Rex picked up, he volunteered to give his nephew a better life. And Ariella...if I live, I'd have to look her father in the face and know, without a shadow of a doubt, I killed the daughter he never got the chance to know. Two, just as off limits. The girl is a mother and Reaped, just as I was. She cried for the son she hoped to return to during her interview and the Capitol cried along with her. And the boy...he's a dweeb. Sure, he's a trained volunteer, but he's a little boy trapped in a big boy's body. Nitya, the bitch from Nine, the breathtakingly beautiful, but stone-faced boy from Seven? Am I ready to end their lives just so either of us can go home?

And to add to the troubles on my mind, I slept with Rex.

He found us together. Of course he would; if my bedroom is empty and Peacekeepers wouldn't let us wonder around outside of our prison cells, especially this close to the Games. Synthe went ballistic, calling us every name he could think of before ranting about how he wasn't going to lose his job because of a pair of backwoods hicks. He called me a whore and a slut, my face never faltering as it they are just words that I am so used to hearing. Rex, however...

"Take that back, you Capitol fuck!" Rex slammed him up against the wall, showing a mean streak I had never seen before. "She is better than you will ever be!"

"I...bet...sh...she...was!" His retort was like daggers, hitting my heart. He shows a surprising amount of strength as he shoves Rex back. "Get your filthy hands off of me, you peasant! Do you think I'm going to let the likes of you ruin what I've got going on here? I'll go to President Cross myself-"

A sickening smile spread across Rex's face as he cut him off. "And who do you think Iron Cross himself is going to _blame_ for this? The crazy in love teenagers set to die at the hands of twenty-two others _or_ the escort too busy watching Cartalosono kill Mariposa and sleeping to keep us apart? He can't punish us, Synthe...we already are punished. But you...you have more to lose than just your precious job and title. Cross will have your hide!"

His face dropped both in color and to the ground at Rex's words, which made me feel so much better. In a huff, Synthe stormed out of his room, slamming both the bedroom door behind him and the door to our suite, leaving Rex and I alone once more.

He went right to work, wiping the tears that I hadn't noticed had fallen from my eyes and kissed me softly on the lips. "Never let them make you feel like you are nothing and never let them see you cry."

I nodded gently, the tears still flowing. "I won't, Rexy. I won't."

"Come on," he exclaimed, his voice returning to its usual chirpiness. "Maybe we can get something wild for our last breakfast in the Capitol!"

And with that, we were children again, bounding through the high grass behind the slaughterhouses. I could almost feel the wind hitting my face and smell the grass mixing with the smell I would learn later in life as that of butchered animals. I could almost see myself spending the rest of my life just like this, with Rex leading the way.

Almost.

* * *

**Ashwood Greenley, 17 - District 12 male**

**Vykktor**

**Morning Before the Games**

* * *

I check the clock again. It's half-past one in the morning. Ugh. One would think that out of all the amazing things they could offer a tribute during the stay in the Capitol, one of those things could be sleeping pills, but no. Apparently that is too much to ask for.

I press the button on my bedside table and immediately an avox comes quietly into my room. He looks to be in his mid-twenties and is clearly malnourished. But then again, all of the avoxes are malnourished. The Capitol has no reason to take great care of them, really. A new one can be conjured up in a heartbeat. All they'd need to do is tell the Head Peacekeeper of any of the districts to accuse someone of theft, and boom! Instant slave.

"Please," I say softly. "Help me into my chair." The avox nods silently and walks up to me. As I swing my legs out of my bed, he unfolds my wheelchair. Once the wheelchair is in place, I extend my arm and he grasps my hand firmly. After I'm seated, I excuse the avox. He nods and leaves me alone in my room.

Seeing as I'm awake with no real way to get back to sleep with the beginning Hunger Games being so close, I decide to order some food. I mean, why not? There's probably nothing on TV. I still haven't figured out that stupid computer. The books they leave for you here are… well… they won't put me to sleep, anyway.

So I press a few buttons on the device next to the wall that delivers the food, and the next thing I know, a steaming hot plate of beef stir fry is sitting there, waiting to be eaten. I dig in, eating every little piece of meat, slice of pepper, and chunk of mushroom on the plate. I'm probably going to regret this much so close to the Games, but I don't care. This stuff is amazing.

After I finish off my delicious meal, I wheel my way towards the door. Since food can't do much in the name of entertaining me once it's in my stomach, I decide to take a trip to the roof. Like I said before, it's not like going back to sleep is really an option. As soon as I reach my destination, however, I am buffeted by a blast of cold air. Shivering, I return to my room and retrieve a sweater from the closet then head back upstairs.

Now that I am properly equipped to handle the harsh elements of the roof, I am finally able to appreciate the visual splendor of the Capitol below. All hatred of the Capitol and their cruelty aside, these guys know how to put on a spectacle. There's some sort of celebration in front of the training center with a laser light show going on around a group of performers, set up on an enormous stage. I can see thousands of Capitolites, jumping up and down to the beat of the song playing while laser after laser fires off into the sky.

Oddly enough, I find myself captivated by this interesting display. It almost makes me wish I could be one of them; blissfully unaware of the cruelty happening around me. I'd be free to celebrate the dismemberment of children all I want because that would be quality entertainment for me. There would be no thought of going hungry, no thought of preservation (since everything in the Capitol seems to be endless), and no fear of death. To the people of the Capitol, death is a thing that happens to those who grow old, and those who are destined to entertain through the Hunger Games.

My thoughts are interrupted by a door opening to my left. I steel myself and prepare to get carted off by a Peacekeeper making his nightly rounds, but as I turn to face the newcomer, I see that it is only Catalaia, or Cat, as she prefers to be called.

"Hey," she says nonchalantly.

"Hey," I reply.

"What're you doing up here?" she asks, ambling over towards me. I gesture my head towards the big brouhaha going on in front of the training center.

"Just watching the light show." Cat leans up against the railing to get a better look.

"I see. Looks like quite a party. Bit surprised I didn't hear it inside the training center."

"My guess is that we have soundproof walls to thank for that."

"Seems like a valid idea, yeah." We stand – or rather, she stands while I sit – for a little while, and then she looks around, a little awkwardly. "Do you know if there's anything I can sit on?" she asks. I scan the roof until I see a stack of empty flower pots near the garden. While most of them are pretty tiny, there are a few of them that look to be suitable seats.

"There's a few empty pots over there. If you turn one over, you could probably sit on one." She glances over to where the pots are, then heads over with me following closely behind. She tries to lift one to turn it over, but after a few seconds of struggling, she grunts, frustrated, and sets it down.

"Thing's too darn heavy," she says irritably. "Is there anything else?" I peer around again until my eyes settle on an old, beat-up metal folding chair. I point to it wordlessly and she looks over. "That'll do," she says.

Once we're at the same level, she looks me in the eye and says, "You know, if you weren't stuck in that wheelchair, I'd be asking you for an alliance right now."

Well that was unexpected.

Instead of acting confused, I give her a look that tells her I'm interested (because I am), and she continues. "I mean, I can tell that if it wasn't for that thing, you'd be a force to be reckoned with." I furrow my brow in suspicion.

"What makes you say that about a guy in a wheelchair?" I ask skeptically.

"Well, for one, you're one of the most athletic people here, minus the Careers," she says plainly. "Those calves don't lie." I can't help but chuckle at this.

"You've been observing my calves?" She rolls her eyes.

"Well, yeah, you're in a wheelchair."

"What does that have to do anything?" I exclaim defensively.

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that," she says, back-tracking. "I mean, like, when someone sees an injured person, they typically look at the injury, right? Like that Metro guy, from District Six. You can't tell me you haven't looked at his arm at least once, can you?" I shake my head.

"Nope. Missing limbs is sort of normal in District Twelve. With all the mining accidents that happen, it's actually pretty normal to see someone without a hand, or a leg, or something else."

"Oh," she says quietly. "Guess I didn't think of that." Her eyes drift towards my legs.

"No, that's not what happened to me." Her head snaps back up.

"I wasn't going to-"

"Yes you were." She hangs her head, resigned.

"Yep, I was." I shrug.

"It's fine. It's not like you're the first one to ask."

"Hey, at least it wasn't in front of all of Panem. Man, Kleon can be dense!"

"Hmph, yeah," I say, nodding my head in agreement. "They targeted my injury right away."

"_So, Ashwood, you must've seen this question coming. How did you end up so horribly disfigured? We're just _dying_ for you to illuminate us."_

_I smile wryly at the pompous freak sitting next to me. "And here I thought I still looked halfway decent." Kleon jumps back in his seat and looks like he's about to faint._

"_Oh, no, that's not what I meant at all! Please, forgive me, Ashwood, I really didn't mean-"_

_I start chuckling and wave my hand dismissively. "I'm joking around, here, Kleon, don't worry."_

_The announcer breathes a big sigh of relief. "Oh, well, that's good. I truly didn't mean to offend you, it's just that I, as well as the rest of Panem, I'm assuming, are just _so_ curious as to what happened! I mean, is it a birth defect? Injury? What?" he begs, leaning forward in his chair._

_And throughout the rest of the interview, Kleon kept pulling the subject back to my injury no matter how many times I'd direct it away. There was no way I could have told the truth of course; stealing is punishable by death._

"Man, they were nosy," Cat comments.

"You can say that again."

"Man, they were nosy," she says, grinning. I roll my eyes.

"You're hilarious."

"I know." Her grin gets wider.

I'm about to make a snide comment when the roof suddenly lights up and I hear a huge explosion. After a brief moment of fear, I realize that the explosion was only a firework bursting over our heads. Thankfully, I notice that Cat had jumped as well, as she still had the remnants of a startled expression. She lets out a nervous laugh.

"Well, that was unexpected."

"Yep," I say, nodding. "I agree." Another firework explodes, lighting up the night sky above us with a beautiful display of shimmering light. I stare at the sky in awe. "Now that is cool." Cat nods and smiles in agreement as another firework booms over our heads. I find myself thinking of the people below us, and can't help but smile at the fact that Cat and I have better seats than anyone down there could possibly imagine.

We sit in silence for a while, watching the amazing display panned out in the sky for all to see, until finally, the show ends and Cat and I are left staring at the smoke trails left behind by spent fireworks. Finally, she looks back at me.

"So, like I was saying, I think you'd make a good alliance member." I look off to the side at the ledge instead of answering. She furrows her brow and follows my gaze. "What?"

I shake my head. "It's nothing," I say. "It's just; I was up here just a few hours ago. Talking with Kristen."

Cat tilts her head to the side slightly. "Your district partner?"

"Yep," I say simply. "Believe it or not, she asked me for an alliance as well."

"…Seriously?" she asks, surprised. "I figured her out to be a bit of a lone wolf type."

"So did I," I say, agreeing. "Can't say I'm not surprised."

"So, she actually for an alliance? She does know you're in a wheelchair, right?" she asks, smiling.

"That's what I was thinking. Why would she want to be in an alliance with someone like me?"

"Maybe she just didn't want to be enemies with everyone in the Games." I look at Cat, puzzled.

"How do you mean?"

She shifts in her seat to face me again. "Well, I'm just saying, my guess is that she wasn't looking for an alliance, just a reason not to kill you. If you're her 'ally'," she says, making quotation marks with her fingers, "She has an excuse not to kill you."

"Because I would definitely last more than five minutes in the Games," I say sarcastically.

"Exactly. My guess is that that was her awkward way of saying, 'I don't want to kill you, so we're going to be allies'," she says, making quotation marks at the word "allies" again. I frown at this last comment.

"Well, let's not put words in her mouth now."

"Hey, that's just what it seems like to me! I don't know her!" she says as she throws her hands up defensively. She looks away from me, towards the ledge. "Maybe that's what I'm looking for," she mutters. "Someone who I know I won't have to kill unless we're the final two." She turns back to me. "Think we could do that? I won't try to kill you if you don't try to kill me?" she smirks, and I smirk back.

"Sure. I'll try not to kill you," I say wryly. "Provided, of course, that you don't try to kill me. 'Cause if you do, all bets are off," I say jokingly. Cat snickers, her smile widening.

"Okay, fine, I won't try to kill you," she whines sarcastically.

Suddenly, the chair Cat is sitting on gives way and collapses, toppling her to the floor. She cries out in surprise, but doesn't seem to be hurt, as she immediately gets up, spins around on one foot, and flourishes her arms while yelling, "Tada!" I applaud her recovery with a slow clap.

"Very nicely done, Ms. Boyd," I say in an official tone. She grins coyly at me.

"Why thank you, Mr. Greenley," she says, echoing my official tone. "Escort me back to my room? The hour is getting quite late," she states, gracefully extending an arm to a dirty old clock. I squint to read the hands and she sighs. "2:45, blind one," she drones.

I nod in agreement. "Yeah, we should probably go to bed." Cat nods, and the two of us move to the elevator. I press the number twelve as she presses the number seven, and soon we're traveling downwards.

It doesn't take long to get to my floor. I mutter a quick "g'night" to Cat and start to wheel my way out of the elevator when a small hand cups my shoulder. I look back to see Cat holding me back with her left hand with an expression of struggle on her face, like she doesn't know exactly what to say. "Yeah?" I ask softly.

She stays silent for a moment, and then takes a deep breath. "That wasn't a joke, back there, was it? About us being semi-allies?" she asks nervously.

"Of course not, Cat. The only reason I would kill you is if you were the only thing standing between me and home. And my guess is that that isn't very likely what with this thing here," I say reassuringly, thumping my fist on the armrest of my wheelchair. She seems relieved by this because she smiles warmly.

"Good," she says happily. She and I stand there (well, she stands, I sit) for a few seconds, and then the unexpected happens. She hesitates for a second, like she's not sure what to do, but then she swoops down and gives me a light peck on the cheek. She smiles a giddier smile than I've ever seen her display and back quickly into the elevator. "Night," she says timidly as the doors close, leaving me to stare at said doors and try to remember what my name was.


End file.
